Daddy Drabbles
by AndSoIWrite
Summary: Series of oneshots of Sam and Dean as daddies (and uncles!). No Wincest. No Destiel. Brotp only. Will happily take requests.
1. Tutus and Transformers

**A/N:** So I'm trying something new: a oneshot series. I really like writing the boys as fathers (_**no Wincest)**_ and there are tons of different angles and depths to explore when it comes to the subject. I also love writing kids (especially the little ones!) so I thought this would be a good place to get that out of my system every once in a while. Thanks for reading!

(If this turns out to be a misguided adventure, all blames lies directly on ThoughtfulConstellations who fully encouraged the idea of Daddy Drabbles.)

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><p>"You are <em>not <em>my daddy!"

Dean sighed as the pre-schooler in front of him stomped her foot, causing one pink and purple sneaker to light up with red lights. He was going to have to get rid of those. They were basically a flashing neon sign saying: _look at us, monsters! _

"Look kid," Dean said and before the next words were out of his mouth, the child in front of him started crying. "What did I do?" he asked and she looked up at him with tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You are mean!" the four-year-old yelled and turned to run. The problem was, there was nowhere to go. They were stuck together in a motel outside of Boise, Idaho, forty-five minutes from where the child had been living up until now and about a thousand years from where Dean wanted to be. He sighed as she contemplated what to do for a second and then threw herself flat on the floor, making him cringe at the thought of what could be hidden in the crevices of the carpet. That alone should have been enough to make him realize he was already going into daddy mode. Never before had Dean Winchester thought about the cleanliness of any carpet, least of all while staying in a motel that was ten times nicer than any one he'd stayed in previously.

"I'm not mean," he said. "I'm practical." Her crying turned into howling that bruised his eardrums and the little sneakers were going off like a cop car's lights as her toes pounded into the floor in time with her clenched fists. He stepped over her in one stride and shut the curtains, leaving the room to be lit by only the fluorescent lights above them.

"You are mean! My daddy is mean!" she sobbed and Dean sighed again. This was only their second night and it was already going way downhill. Like, fallen off a cliff, lying in the bottom of the valley downhill. He wanted to call that stuffy CPS agent and tell her to come scrape the wailing child off his floor.

"Stop crying," he pleaded but the little girl just continued to shriek and he was a little worried that the motel manager was going to come knocking. Knowing his luck, the kid would probably say she's been kidnapped and what would that going to look like to CPS?

The crying had now reached decibels to which the human ear should not have be able to detect and Dean was already working on a headache so that definitely didn't help. Instead of trying to calm her, Dean stepped back over the child and locked himself in the small bathroom. On second thought, he unlocked the door but took a seat on the toilet and his head dropped into his hands, scrubbing at his face as if to try and rub some motivation into himself. It didn't work.

He didn't ask for this, to have a miniature human riding in the back of his car and asking to be picked up and putting boogers in his hair without meaning to. But, as both Sam and Bobby reminded him, he had definitely asked for the sex that one night four years ago. In fact he might remember getting drunk enough that he literally asked for it. Then again, the condom wasn't supposed to break and he kind of also remembers being shouted at for not pulling out, but who knew that an actual child was going to happen because of it. Not him. Definitely not him.

And listening to the screaming still going strong from behind the wooden bathroom door, Dean Winchester officially swore off sex. Forever. Or at least until he got to Heaven where he figured he couldn't procreate because it was Heaven and he could do whatever he wanted once he got there. If he got there.

He dialed Sam's cell while trying to avoid looking at the pink Barbie toothbrush on the counter. There were certain things he didn't want to repeat from last night and convincing the little girl to brush her teeth was one of them. She had thrown a fit and told him his toothpaste tasted "too spicy". He had actually gone out and bought some bubblegum flavored crap but by the time they got back to the motel, she'd fallen asleep in her carseat and he would have rather hanged himself than waken her up. Her teeth wouldn't rot overnight. Right? Goddammit, he knew nothing about children. He made a mental note to make her a dentist appointment, trying and failing to remember the last time he'd been to the dentist.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was half-panic, half-curiosity. "Dean, how's it going? Did you meet the kid?"

"Yeah," he said and it came out as a whisper. "Yeah," he tried again. There was a pause.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Is she yours?"

Dean thought about the blonde hair and blue eyes and wanted to say no but then he thought about how she kept asking for a pink jeep to drive and the fact that even though she wore a pink tutu to the grocery store, she demanded to watch Transformers instead of Cinderella.

"Yeah, she's mine."

"What's her name?"

"Lydia. Although she prefers to be called Princess Sparkle" Dean said dryly and Sam laughed.

"How's it going?"

"Well, right now she having a temper tantrum in the motel room because I told her we were going to go get McDonalds for dinner. She wanted Burger King but for some reason this goddamn town doesn't have a Burger King."

"What do you mean _she's _in the motel room? Where are you? Dean, you can't leave her alone! She's five!" Sam sounded much more like a father than Dean at the moment and he wished his little brother were here with him. But Sam was taking care of a rogue vampire in Sacramento and couldn't get to Idaho fast enough.

"Actually," Dean corrected. "She's four, just turned four last month, and don't worry I'm in the bathroom. I wouldn't leave her alone."

"Good."

"But I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can't get her to stop crying. She says I'm not her dad and that I'm mean. Sam, she called me mean twice." Sam wanted to laugh again at the wounded tone coming from his tough big brother but he bit his tongue. He knew this was going to be hard on Dean, knew that Dean wasn't ready to be thrown into a totally different world than the one he inhabited. His brother did not like surprises.

"She doesn't mean it."

"How do you know?" Sam's voice softened.

"Because she's probably really scared right now. Her mom died last month, she's been in foster care ever since, and now she's living with a strange man. Imagine how freaked out she is."

"I'm not strange!"

"You know what I mean." His own navy toothbrush looked so depressing there on the counter next to hers and Dean hid it behind the purple bag that held of Lydia's bathroom stuff.

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Why don't you start by holding her, that might work."

"Holding her?" Sam sighed and this time he sounded a bit impatient. It really wasn't that long ago that Dean had been taking care of Sam like he was supposed to take care of Lydia. He knew that it was different when the kid was your own but it's not like Dean had no practice.

"Yes, hold her like you used to hold me when I woke up from nightmares. You used to pick me up and take me back to your bed and then you'd wait until I fell asleep. A lot of the time you told me stories, sometimes you just talked about random things, but it always helped me."

"I didn't know you remembered that," Dean said after a minute. He hadn't forgotten the years he'd spent tending to Sam but he didn't think his little brother would remember them so vividly.

"Of course I do." The silence turned awkward; neither of the brothers liked reveling in the fact that their deceased father hadn't actually been much of a father.

"You'll do better than him, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Sam," Dean whispered. "I don't think I can." Outside the door, Lydia sobs were still audible.

"You can. And I'll help and Bobby will help. You don't have to do this alone, okay? Not like Dad."

"I'm going to go back out there," Dean said and Sam smiled into the phone. One thing that could be said for Dean Winchester was that he never backed down from a challenge. "

Good for you. I'll see you in a couple days. I'm going to go kill a vampire now."

As he splashed water on his face, Dean couldn't help but think how he would have much rather preferred hunting the supernatural than what he was about to do.

He was rather amazed that Lydia was still going at it when he got out; he'd been in the bathroom a good ten minutes and yet, the kid's voice didn't seem to be giving out at all.

"Lydia? Lydia!" She didn't acknowledge him until he grabbed her around the middle and hauled her upwards. She flailed in his arms but Dean was used to holding down shifting werewolves and angry demons and a smaller-than-average child was nothing compared to that.

"It's okay," he said over and over until she stopped kicking him and one hand reached up hesitantly to stroke her hair. He'd put it in pigtails that morning but they were coming out of the rubber bands and strands of hair were clinging to her face, glued there by tears. He brushed them away.

"We're going to be okay," he told his daughter and she wrapped herself around him like a baby monkey, legs around his waist, arms around his neck, face buried in his collarbone. He could feel the warmth of her cheeks against his skin, the furious pounding of her heart against his own chest. She felt so tiny and Dean knew instinctively that he had to protect this child that was half made of him. And just like that, there was nothing more he wanted more in the world than to keep her safe.

"I miss my mommy," she whispered to his throat, reaching up to pet the scruff along his jawline, a habit she'd picked up since yesterday. Lots of women said it was scratchy and irritating but this odd little girl found it soothing.

"I know," Dean said. "And I'm sorry but I can't bring her back." Lydia wiped her nose without pulling away and he felt the snot wipe along the collar of his shirt and for some reason he didn't mind.

"D-did she go on a t-trip?"

"Yes," Dean said, sitting down on the bed and tucking her against him even more. Her legs were bony against his back.

"Without m-me?" Dean's stone heart cracked and broke and his chin came to rest on her head, something he'd always done with Sammy as a little kid.

"She couldn't bring you," he told Lydia. "But she really wanted to."

"She did?"

"Of course." She continued to play with his facial hair, reaching her fingers up to twist in his hair. She pulled away a little bit, her eyes red and swollen. Dean's heart throbbed.

"Lydia, do you want to come live with me?" Those blue eyes went wide and her fingers stopped working through his hair. She cocked her head so that more hair fell out of her pigtails and Dean swept it behind her shoulders and out of her face. He could do this, this fathering thing. It wasn't so hard.

"Can we go to the park?"

"Sure."

"And the zoo?" Dean tried to think of the nearest zoo to Sioux Falls but decided he'd drive all the way to the San Diego Zoo if he had to.

"Yes, and the zoo. We'll go and meet your Uncle Sam. He's really tall like a tree but super nice." Lydia giggled.

"I have a tree uncle! That's funny!" Dean grinned along with her.

"So what do you think? Want to come live with me?"

Lydia surprised him by launching herself forward on his thighs and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

"Yes Daddy, I want to go home with you!"

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><p><strong>AN:** This one was pretty general but it got the ball rolling. I have a few more ideas in mind but I'm totally down to do requests too, so leave suggestions in reviews or PM me if you're shy. I'm pretty open to anything except no Wincest and no Destiel and no mpreg. Brotp is awesome. Just normal, fluffy (or angsty, we all know I love angst) kid fics please. And let's keep it rated T. Any season or AU is fine with me. So get creative, talk to me, and let me know what you would like to see and if you even want me to continue!


	2. Double Trouble

**A/N:** Thanks for the awesome response to this series! It's definitely new territory for me so I'm glad so many of you are interested and willing to hang in there while I work out the kinks.

A question to address: some people wanted to know if I would come back to certain characters (Lydia, for example) and their storyline. Absolutely! I'm not going to tell it in a play-by-play but I will happily write more of any 'verse you guys want to see. It especially helps if you have specific scenes or moments/emotions you'd like to see played out. I get attached to these characters along with you guys!

If you haven't already, check out my other stories, and don't forget to leave a review. Suggestions and requests welcome! (If you're shy, feel free to PM me on here or message me on tumblr, my URL is thesethingswillchangeus)

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><p>Dean had gotten used to the fact that when he opened Sam's front door, he was going to be bombarded by a flying human body. A miniature flying body, but still a body, with arms and legs and a head that liked to knock right into what Dean liked to call "his most precious commodities."<p>

"Uncle Dean!"

"Hello to you too, Tyler," Dean said, keeping his hips carefully angled away from the five year's old crushing hug.

"Did you drive the 'pala here? Did you bring us presents? Want to come see what I drew at school? Come look!" Then there were two small hands tugging Dean's large one and he couldn't help but grin. Tyler was basically Sam's clone, down to the lanky limbs and long hair that he was always brushing out of his eyes. Dean dropped his duffel in the foyer and followed the tiny head in front of him.

"Mama, Dean's here!"

"Dean! You're early!"

Sarah was standing at the sink, up to her elbows in soapy water but she threw Dean a smile over her shoulder. He managed to give her a kiss on the cheek before Tyler pulled him over to the kitchen table.

"Look what I painted! Look, mine is the dinosaur! Right there!" Tyler scrambled onto a chair and leaned over the table, Dean automatically putting a hand out to steady the boy in case he fell. He wouldn't of course; he was a Winchester and had inherited all of Sam and Dean's speed and agility. The kid was five and already playing soccer in the fall and baseball in the summer, giving his parents a run for their money all year round. Dean bent over to examine the sloppy artwork; it looked more like a bunch of scribbles to him but he tried to act impressed.

"Do you see it?" Tyler asked, still pointing.

"Yeah, bud, I see it." Dean said. "That's awesome." Tyler beamed. Everything that Uncle Dean said or did was cool, much to the chagrin of Sam. The kid was already enough like this uncle: Tyler was loud and outgoing and constantly trying to either befriend every kid in his grade or beat them up.

"But Uncle Dean," he had told his uncle a couple months, tiny face scrunched up and serious. "I had to push him to the ground because he maked fun of Ellie."

The kid was a loose cannon and Dean loved him for it.

"Did you bring me any presents?" Tyler asked again as Dean scooped him off the chair and set him on the floor. Tyler was bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with energy; it made Dean tired just to look at him.

"Not this time, kiddo."

"Why not?"

"Tyler!" Sarah came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a rag before giving Dean a proper hug.

"Sorry," Tyler said and Dean ruffled the too-long hair.

"Where've you been, mister?" Sarah asked, handing Dean a beer. "You haven't been around in nearly two months. I thought Tyler was going to burn a hole in his tongue for all he was asking about you."

"Out and about," Dean said, shrugging. He and Garth had teamed up to kill a nest of rogue vamps and then Garth ended up getting bit and from there, the whole Hunt got a lot trickier. Sarah gave a knowing nod and a tense smile. She didn't like the fact that Dean hunted and he knew from Sam the two of them had gotten into it more than once over it. Sam knew there was nothing he could do or say to convince his brother to stop hunting but Sarah was ever fearful of Dean's safety.

"What am I supposed to tell the kids when you don't come back?" she asked him once as he was leaving their house after another visit. That stay hadn't ended well; he had shrugged and walked out the door, on his way to take down a Crocotta in Missoula. Later on, he apologized via phone and then again in person but Sarah still worried about her children's reactions to the day beloved Uncle Dean didn't show up for Christmas or their big soccer tournament.

"Cole!" Tyler's shriek of glee had Sarah and Dean turning their heads. Sam was coming up the stairs with Tyler's twin brother in his arms, the kid's legs wrapped tight around his waist, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Behind them was a kind looking woman who carried a huge black bag and a manila file folder. Dean noticed Sam shake his head to Sarah and she stepped forward quickly.

"Tyler, go wash your hands for dinner!"

"But Mom, I wanna play with Cole!"

"Now!" Tyler glared at his mother, adding to his resemblance to his father; Dean could still see a five-year-old Sam glowering at him for similar reasons. Then his gaze fell and he trudged down the hallway to the bathroom.

"I'll see you next week, Cole," the woman said, voice soft. She laid a hand on Cole's back and the boy flinched away, burrowing into his father as much as he could. The lines around Sam's mouth tightened. "Cole, can you wave goodbye to me?" the woman asked. The child did nothing.

"Cole," Sam said, nudging the boy off of his shoulder. "Uncle Dean is here." The change was immediate. The little boy swiveled in Sam's arms, almost ramming Sam in the jaw with his head. His eyes lit up when he saw Dean standing a few feet away and he reached his arms out, making grabbing motions with his fingers. Dean took him from Sam and the child immediately wrapped his arms around his neck, breathing a sigh right into Dean's ear: Cole's way of saying hello.

They had been unable to diagnose Cole completely in the few years of his life other than the possibility of him being a selective mute. He understood everything anyone said to him and kept up in school, except for the whole not talking thing. Sarah and Sam had tried multiple therapists and programs but the kid never said a peep. He grinned but never laughed, cried but never sobbed. From what Dean understood, he had few friends at school, clinging to his brother when his parents weren't around. Cole was also small for his age, a few inches shorter than Tyler and skinny as all get-out. But while Tyler took after Sam in looks, Cole was all Dean – from the sandy brown hair that stuck up in all directions in the morning to the green eyes that blinked wide along with his silence.

"Hey, buddy," Dean said, hefting the kid higher in his arms. Cole's cheek pressed against his neck and he could feel the child's heartbeat against his shoulder. From the day he was born, Cole had formed an attachment to Dean that not even a young-Sam had been able to rival. For a while, Dean had to move in because he was the only one who could calm the infant when he cried. Now whenever he visited, Cole clung to him to like a starfish, rarely letting Dean out of his sight.

"Hi, I'm Diane," the woman said, reaching out a hand. Dean was surprised by her strong grip. "Nice to meet you. Looks like Cole is happy to see his Uncle Dean."

"Yeah, Cole and I go way back. Right, bud?"

To everyone's surprise, Cole nodded. Usually, when he was having a 'bad' day, he refused to answer anyone. But this time he nodded and then smiled, patting Dean on the cheek and then pointing to him while looking back at Diane.

"I see," Diane said, obviously impressed. "Looks like Uncle Dean is very special to you." Cole's grin grew wider and Sam's heart stuttered at the scene: his big brother holding his son, a miniature version of himself, both wearing the same smile. It was moments like this that made Sam sure he'd done the right thing by getting out of hunting but still letting Dean play an active role in his life.

"I'm baaaack!" Tyler announced, running back down the hallway, droplets of water flying behind him as he was soaked from fingertip to elbow, shirtsleeves flapping. Sarah groaned. Cole wriggled to be put down and Dean obliged, watching the twins run to the kitchen together.

"I'll see you next week," Diane promised.

When she left, everyone else sat down at the table, Cole on one side of Dean while Tyler sat next to his mother with Sam at the head of the table. Again, Dean couldn't help but remember his childhood as he leaned over to cut up Cole's chicken, his breath catching in his throat as Cole's dimples reminded him exactly of Sam. He loved hunting but there was something special about just sitting at the dinner table and making sure the kids didn't stab their eyeballs out with their forks. There were times when Dean liked this feeling, this domesticity that Sam had sank into so easily.

After dinner, he played downstairs with Cole and Tyler until their bedtime and when he had read enough bedtime stories to put an entire elementary school to sleep, his tiptoed out of the room and went to watch TV with Sam and Sarah, reveling in the normality of everything in this house. Sam had it so easy; nothing ever came after him, he never had to go after anything. Sarah was a bombshell in both looks and personality, and the kids weren't really that much trouble. Not like a vampire or a shapeshifter was.

Dean took that last statement back when he was woken up at seven the next morning by four bony knees jabbing into his back.

"Eeerrrr," he groaned. "Sam?" High pitched giggling and the sheets twisted over his legs.

"No," the same voice giggled. "It's Tyler and Cole." Dean cracked an eye. Two tiny faces stared back at him, one set of hazel eyes, one set of green, both of them glowing with laughter. Dean flopped back on the bed and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Where's your mother? Isn't she supposed to keep you in line?" This time, Tyler's laugh bordered on hysterical and Dean felt spit hit his forehead.

"Mama's not here. Only Daddy. He and you have to play with us all day long!" This time, Dean's eyes opened for real and he sat up, Tyler tumbling to the foot of the bed while Cole just crept closer and buried himself under Dean's arm, pressing to his side. Dean removed the child's thumb from his mouth, knowing it was a habit Sarah and Sam wanted kicked.

"Big boys don't suck their thumbs," he reminded his nephew and Cole blinked up at him before forming a tight fist around the wet digit. Sam's head popped around the door.

"Oh good, they found you."

"Good?" Dean said as Tyler crawled to his other side, grinning up at his father. Sam couldn't resist; he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. Both his sons in bed with their Uncle Dean? The blackmail options were endless and oh so golden. "How is this good?" Dean wanted to know.

"You love it," Sam said. "Don't lie." A sticky hand brushed against Dean's bicep and Tyler giggled again. "Alright, all three of you get your butts out of bed. We're getting dressed and going to the grocery store." Tyler slipped off the bed – he had too much energy to stay still for long – while Dean made a noise of protestation.

"Grocery shopping? Is the sun even up yet?" Sam gave him a look of warning as he scooped Cole out of the bed with one arm while ripping the blankets off of Dean with the other.

"Up and at 'em," Sam said. "Sarah's orders."

Dean couldn't help thinking that when he was hunting he didn't have to take orders from anyone but himself. And he definitely preferred it that way.

He didn't have to worry about the sun being up because by the time they actually got the twins in the car and strapped into their carseats, it was after nine and there had been a grand total of four temper tantrums. One because Tyler wanted to wear his sandals even though it was December, one because Cole didn't want milk with his cereal, and two simultaneously when both boys realized they wouldn't be taking the Impala. Tears were still trickling down Cole's cheeks as they pulled out of the driveway.

"When we have more time, okay guys? Mom has us on a tight schedule. First is the grocery store and then we have to go get some tools. But Uncle Dean will take you for a ride soon. Right, Dean?"

"Sure thing," Dean said, twisting around in the passenger. Cole was staring at his hands while Tyler nodded.

"Okay, Daddy." The little boy sniffed and Dean turned back around, glad they had dodged a bullet. Maybe this kid thing actually was stressful. It was nine-thirty and Dean needed a nap. Or maybe he was just getting old.

No, no, definitely not.

When they got to the grocery store, Cole refused to leave Dean's side to go into the kids program and Tyler didn't want to go by himself. To keep everyone happy, Sam let both boys stay with the adults while they shopped, provided they didn't let go of the cart.

"You hear me? Neither one of you lets go." The twins nodded and little fingers wrapped around the metal, knuckles turning white at the grip.

For a while, everything was fine. Despite some lingering fingers and dragging feet, they progressed through the produce section and then the meat department with relative ease; Sam focused on the list Sarah had left behind while Dean tried to entertain the boys as much as possible, not an easy thing to do in a grocery store.

"Hey Dean, come over here for a second." They were in the cereal aisle and Sam was having a difficult time locating the specific cereal on the list. "I can't find this granola chex stuff that Cole likes."

"That's a thing?" Dean asked, leaving the boys with the cart while he went to help Sam search.

"Apparently," Sam said, shrugging. "I don't know. Didn't we just used to eat Cheerios?"

"Or an apple," Dean said.

"I remember for a week, we split a banana each."

"Ah yes," Dean said, as if the memory was a fond one. "I forgot about that one."

"I figure if they want granola chex cereal, they can have it. Hell, I'd feed them marshmallows for breakfast if that's what they wanted."

"Let's not get carried away," Dean said, thinking about his morning awakening. "They don't need any help causing trouble. Do you, guys?"

Except when they both turned around, there was no one holding onto the cart. There was no one else in the aisle at all besides the two Winchesters.

"Oh shit," Dean said.

"Oh my god," Sam said, dropping the list and sprinting to the end of the aisle. "Tyler? Cole?" Dean followed close behind him. "Tyler! Buddy where are you?"

There were no children at the end of the aisle or in either of the adjoining ones. Dean couldn't believe it; how far could two five-year-olds go in two minutes? The answer was far, apparently.

"Should we split up?" Dean asked. Sam seemed to have frozen, not exactly the reaction of an ex-hunter. But fatherhood had changed Sam in more ways than one and his fight or flight response was null and void.

"I don't know," Sam moaned, searching frantically with his eyes, craning his neck without moving his feet from where he stood. Dean wanted to push him just to see if he'd topple over. "Sarah's going to kill me."

"Calm down," Dean said. "They're not going to leave the store. Right?" He and Sam came to the same conclusion at the same time: the boys knew very well the entrance of the store and just outside was a busy parking lot, the only thing barricading them from an even busier highway. The color drained out of Sam's face.

"Dean…"

"Go check the exit," Dean ordered. "I'll look around here." The orders seemed to knock some action into Sam and he left jogging.

"Tyler? Cole! Come on guys, answer me!" Dean walked through the store at a fast clip, peeking into the aisles one by one and finding nothing.

"Sarah's gonna kill us," he muttered to himself, panic rising in him like a flush. He'd lost Sam once – just once – in a bookstore when they were kids and those five minutes were among the worst of his life. He thought his heart was going to come out the bottom of his feet and his throat would close. He'd thought he was dying until he found Sam curled up in a back corner, a stack of books at his side despite being too young to read.

"Tyler?" Calling Cole's name wasn't going to help; the kid wouldn't answer back. People were starting to stare and Dean was starting to sweat and he had just turned around to restart his search when a crash came from near the front of the store. Dean bolted, sprinting down the nearest aisle and almost knocking over a woman he would have shamelessly flirted with if he hadn't been freaking out.

Tyler's tell-tale giggling gave them away.

He heard the boy before he saw the two of them, lying on the floor underneath a pile – a mountain – of bath towels. They were both draped in them, sitting on top of them, Cole had one wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

"Guys!" Dean shouted, not caring that multiple people were watching him. He dropped to his knees and skidded the rest of the way, disturbing the fluffy mess before him.

"Uncle Dean!" Tyler crowed and Cole reached for his uncle. Dean enveloped both of them in a hug.

"We told you to hold onto the cart!" Dean said. "And then you disappeared."

Tyler eyes went wide as he suddenly remembered the rule but Cole's grin couldn't be dimmed.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Dean," Tyler said and Cole nodded vigorously along with him. "We're really sorry."

"It's okay," Dean said. "But we gotta tell your dad so he can stop freaking out."

"We made a pretty cool fort though, didn't we?" Tyler asked, slipping his hand into Dean's while Cole scrambled onto his uncle's back, holding on tight as Dean stood.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool," Dean agreed. "Maybe we can make one when we get home. And not in the grocery store."

"You're the coolest uncle ever!" Tyler said and Dean felt Cole nodded against his back.

There were a lot of things Dean loved about hunting: he loved the adrenaline rush, the thrill of saving people, the women. Hunting was in Dean's blood, the same way parts of his DNA ran in his nephew's veins. He could never undo that part of his life and he didn't want to.

But sometimes hearing "You're the coolest uncle ever!" was pretty great too.


	3. Three's a Family

**A/N: **Okay, back by popular demand...Lydia and Dean!

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><p>Lydia had been living with Dean for six months. Actually, she had been living with Dean and Sam and Bobby in Sioux Falls. Dean couldn't imagine trying to raise a child on his own, let alone one with threw a fit when he wouldn't let her wear her sparkly sandals (which was nine months out of the year). They were in the process of building a small house behind Bobby's junk lot, but it still had a ways to go before it was fit for a four-year-old. For now, they lived and Bobby's house and Lydia loved it.<p>

She loved the musty couch that still poofed up dust every time she sat on it. She loved waking Dean up in the morning by using his mattress as a trampoline. She had loved Bobby at first sight, calling him Grandpa much to Sam and Dean's amusement. Sam's stature and deep voice intimidated the young girl and for the first couple weeks, she refused to be alone in the same room with him. In time though, she thawed to her uncle and spent a lot of time riding on his shoulders, fingertips brushing the ceiling.

"Dean, are you crazy?"

They were standing in the kitchen, Sam and Dean standing while Bobby sat at the kitchen table nursing a glass of whiskey.

"Not the last time I checked," Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're not going on a Hunt!"

"Keep your voice down, I just put Lydia to bed. And yes, I'm going."

"No, you're not."

"What, are you going to stop me?" Sam shrugged and shifted in place while Dean's eyes flashed in anger. He hated being told what to do, especially by his little brother.

"If that's what it takes."

"You aren't my keeper, Sam."

"Bobby," Sam said, turning to their surrogate uncle. "Talk some sense into him."

"He's an adult," Bobby allowed, downing the rest of his drink. There wasn't much more that stressed him out as much as the brothers fighting – especially when he got dragged into it. The boys still argued like they were…boys. It exhausted him.

"Thank you," Dean said, leaning back against the counter and grinning as though the discussion was over.

"But he's an adult with a child," Bobby continued and Sam gave a triumphant crow.

"Shh!" Bobby said. "You know the rules: if you wake her up, you have to put her back to sleep." Sam's joyful holler ended abruptly; getting Lydia back to sleep was a nightmare, sometimes literally.

"Bobby," Dean started but the older man held up a hand.

"Listen up, daddy," he said, twisting the last word somewhere in between sarcasm and affection. "You have a kid and that means she comes first. Always. So if you think this is a good idea for her, then go for it. I'll fully support you. But if there is an inkling of you that ain't so sure, that means you gotta stay behind. Let Sam handle this one."

"Cas asked for me," Dean said, shaking his head. "And it's a demon problem." He glanced over at Sam. "You know you're not ready for that."

"I can do it," Sam said, standing up straighter. "I'm fine."

"No, no," Bobby said. "We agreed, no demons for you until you get all those cravings out of your system. Hunt whatever else you damn please but you're not going near those black-eyed bastards."

"So you're just going to let Dean go?"

"I'm not lettin' anybody do anything. Dean will make his own choices." Bobby fixed his gaze on Dean who tried not to shiver against the stare. "I'm sure he'll make the right one."

"Aw Bobby, why you gotta play that card?" Dean said.

"Yeah Dean, I hope you'll make the right decision," Sam said, getting ready to leave the room. "And if you leave in the middle of the night, I'll hunt you down, demons or no demons."

"Alright, alright," Dean said, annoyed. "I won't leave tonight."

When they were alone, Bobby poured himself another glass and pushed one across the table to Dean who caught it. A drop spilled out and he licked it off his thumb before sitting down.

"I don't know what to do."

"You and everyone else in the world."

"I'm not kidding, Bobby. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Well, let me let you in a little secret. No one knows what they're doing, especially when it comes to being a parent. You think your father had it all squared away?"

"That's different," Dean said, running a fingertip around the lip of his glass. There were toys littered everywhere around the house. No matter how often he picked up, Lydia's stuffed animals and princess costumes seemed to multiply every night. Half of their clothes were covered in glitter because once the stuff got in the washing machine, it was impossible to get out.

"Not so much. I mean you're trying a whole lot harder than your daddy ever did but he was as scared as you are. He just didn't handle it as well."

"You did, though," Dean said looking up. Bobby's eyes softened and he rubbed his scruff, chuckling at the memories.

"Yeah, well, you two rugrats kept me on my toes. Probably kept me from dying a boring death." Dean smiled.

"So what do you think I should do?"

"I ain't playing that game," Bobby said, swallowing the rest of his drink and taking his glass to the sink. It clattered loudly from where he dropped it too far up. "You're going to decide for yourself. That little girl up there will be just fine without you for a few days but you better decide if it's worth it. Sam's right." Bobby walked back over to the table and stood in front of his quasi-son. "If something happens to you, she gets left behind. She's lost her mother, don't let her lose her father too."

"Bobby, I'm going crazy sitting around here. I mean, I love her." Dean smiled and shookhis head, thinking of his daughter sitting at the kitchen table and drawing picture after picture of her and Dean holding hands, showing every single one to her father. "But I'm not used to sticking around the house, doing nothing. Shopping for clothes for her and food for her and making sure she's entertained every second of the day. I need to get out every once in a while."

Bobby looked at him seriously and Dean felt his stomach dip in guilt even before the Hunter opened his mouth.

"Listen up: that kid up there is yours. End of story. That means you feed her and clothe her and you play goddamn tea party with her until your buttocks fall off. You don't get vacations or holidays when you have a kid. I know it's rough, but that's the way it is. Someday, you might reap the rewards of raising her or maybe you won't. That's the gamble you take."

"That's not what I meant," Dean said, face burning with shame. He rubbed the back of his neck in unease, his whiskey abandoned in front of him.

"So if you need to kill this demon because it's the right thing to do and you feel like you can't turn Cas down, then go right ahead. But if you're going because you want to feel like a man or you're feeling penned up here, you better think twice, boy."

Bobby left Dean alone with the rest of his whiskey and his thoughts, one being much more dangerous than the other at the moment. He wanted to leave, wanted to stay. How could he feel so torn? He loved Lydia more than anything he'd ever loved before. Maybe not more than Sam but he loved her in a different way, a more rounded way, a way in which he knew he would lay down his life and any other person's for her in a heartbeat, would find some way to harness the moon and the stars for her if she asked.

But he loved Hunting too. And he missed it. Missed the adrenaline flooding through him, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in warning. He wanted to re-sharpen his senses, to recognize the feeling of someone sneaking up behind him. For some sick reason, he wanted to put his life on the line; Dean wanted the risk.

He was a horrible father.

xxx

Dean left the next morning after he fixed Lydia oatmeal with strawberries and cinnamon, just how she liked it.

"Liddy," Dean said, sitting next to her. "I have to tell you something." The little girl ignored him and dipped her spoon into the oatmeal.

"Daddy, last night I had a dream about a unicorn. Me and you roded it all over Grandpa's farm." Despite the fact that there were no animals anywhere near Bobby's junkyard, Lydia was convinced it was a farm because of the tall grasses and the barn-turned-warehouse. "Daddy, when you builded our whole house can we get a pony?" Dean nearly choked on a sip of orange juice.

"We'll see," he said because he had learned never to say no outright. It only caused tears and screaming. "Liddy, I have to go away for a little bit."

"Where?" she wanted to know, unphased at his announcement. "To Grandpa's workshop?"

"No, not to work. On a trip." When she looked up at him, there was oatmeal on her chin and he wiped it away. She was the messiest child he had ever known and that included Sam.

"I will go pack my suitcase," she said, sliding off her chair. "I will pack my pink Barbie shoes and my pink tutu and my purple sparkly toothbrush." Dean caught her by the wrist and swung her into his lap. "Daddy, are we riding in the 'Pala on the trip?"

"Lydia, I'm going to go on a trip by myself. Uncle Sam and Grandpa are going to watch you." It was amazing how quickly her attitude changed. Instantly, her face dropped into a frown and the trembling lips made Dean second-guess his decision. She threw herself onto him and he had to plant his feet firmly on the floor to make sure the chair didn't fall backwards.

"No! Don't leave me!"

"It's only for a little bit," Dean said, trying to pry her arms from around his neck before she suffocated him.

"No!" she screamed right into his ear. "Don't go, Daddy!"

Her shouts brought Sam and Bobby into the kitchen and both of them watched the scene with resignation. Sam was looking just a bit pissed off as Lydia continued to throw a tantrum on her father's lap. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and she sobbed into Dean's shirt. This only further proved Sam's theory that Dean should not be leaving his daughter.

"Don't leave me," she kept repeating. "Daddy, don't leave!"

"He'll be back soon, pumpkin," Bobby said, attempting to soothe her but the girl only glared at him and howled louder. Dean stood and Lydia wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Lydia," Dean started. "I'll come back in a couple days."

"Y-You won't t-tuck me into b-b-bed," she sobbed, burying her face into his shoulder.

"But Uncle Sam will. He's really good at tucking in," Dean said, rubbing her back. She peeked out at Sam and he smiled, holding out his arms for her.

"Will he read me a s-story?" she said, sniffing.

"Of course," Dean said. "Maybe Grandpa will let you have ice cream," he whispered and Lydia's eyes widened. "Give me a hug, okay? I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Daddy," she said and then she reached out for Sam who gathered her up in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and stuck her thumb in her mouth even though she hadn't sucked her thumb in two years.

"I'll be back soon," Dean told them at the front door, his old duffel in hand. Despite seeing his daughter with tears stains, he knew the adrenaline was going to kick in once he pulled out of Bobby's. He gave Lydia a kiss on the cheek and then the front door closed.

Once he was out of sight, Lydia started crying again.

"I want my Daddy!"

"I know," Sam said, walking up and down the hallway. "Do you want to watch a movie? I can put on The Little Mermaid."

"I want Daddy!"

It took hours before Lydia tired herself out, falling asleep in Sam's lap on the couch. He was too afraid to move in case she woke up and started crying again so he stayed there while Bobby fixed lunch and brought to him, sitting beside them with the TV on mute. When she did eventually wake up, the little girl was despondent with no appetite.

"When is Daddy coming home?" she whined, sitting on the kitchen floor while Bobby fixed her dinner.

"In a couple days, sweetheart."

"How long is a couple days?"

"If you go to sleep three times, he'll be here when you wake up." Bobby hoped to God that he was telling the girl the truth and prayed that Dean had the good sense not to stay away longer than a few nights. Later, when he went to find Lydia to eat, he found her curled up in bed with her eyes squeezed shut. When he pulled back the blankets, he found her already in her pajamas and hugging her favorite stuffed animal.

"Lydia, it's only six o'clock. What are you doing in bed?" Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she mumbled,

"You said if I sleeped three times, Daddy would come home."

Xxx

Sam tried to keep Lydia entertained during the day while Bobby was out working on the cars or taking calls from Hunters. He tried to persuade her to play tea party, watch a movie, go to the park, but all she wanted to do was draw pictures.

"For Daddy," she explained. "When he comes home he will see my pictures and then he will never leave again!" Even when Sam did his best to read all her favorite bedtime stories she started crying because he "didn't do the right voices like Daddy."

It got to the point where Sam started calling Dean's cell, although his brother had turned his phone off in order to focus on the Hunt.

Lydia slept three times and was beside herself when Dean hadn't come home by the fourth night.

"I want Daddy!" she wailed, throwing her toys at Sam. He stood next to her bed and was in the doorway of her closet, hurling the items at him with great force. She couldn't throw very far but Dean had already been coaching her and the four-year-old's aim was accurate. A Barbie hit Sam in the left knee.

"Lydia, Daddy will be home soon. We'll try to call him."

"No!" she shouted, ripping off her shirt in protest and throwing it to the floor.

"Oh dear," Bobby said, walking by the room.

"Yeah," Sam said, scowling. "I'm never letting Dean leave this house again." Lydia had thrown herself to the floor in one of her infamous tantrums and was rolling around as if on fire.

"I want Daddy! I want Daddy!"

"We need to order a stock of earplugs," Bobby grumbled. "You think anything's gonna calm her down?"

"Aside from Dean?" Sam shrugged. "I think she just needs to wear herself out. I gotta say, Bobby, I can't wait until they move into that house."

"You and me both, kid."

Sam woke Lydia up the next morning with a back rub, just like Dean usually did. She rolled over sleepily, blinking up at him and then scowling when he wasn't her father.

"I have a surprise for you," Sam said softly. Her eyes widened and she sat up, climbing into his lap. Her little body was warm where it pressed against his and Sam couldn't deny he loved the feeling of her trusting him enough to let him hold her.

"Is Daddy coming home?"

"Not yet," he said. "A different surprise." She looked up at him hopefully, sticking her thumb in her mouth again. The habit had come back in the days her father remained absent and neither Sam nor Bobby had the heart to break her of it.

"A pony?" she asked. Sam smiled.

"Not a pony but something almost as good."

Her interest piqued, Lydia got dressed without any theatrics and even managed a bowl of oatmeal when Bobby set it in front of her. Sam's promise of a surprise seemed to have livened the little girl up; she chattered to both men throughout the morning meal.

"When I'm all growed up, I'm going to be a princess," she informed them, picking up a stray blob of oatmeal from the table and sticking it in her mouth. Her lips made a smacking noise when she sucked her fingers. "And I'm going to live in a castle and have five – no, six! – white ponies!"

"Can we come visit?" Sam asked and Lydia looked at him as if he'd just announced he too was going to be a princess.

"Of course, silly," she said. "You are going to live with me. You and Grandpa and Daddy. We will all live in my castle!" She looked over at Bobby. "Grandpa can even bring his cars since he loves cars as much as I love ponies."

"Thank you," Bobby said as though she had done him a great service.

"And Daddy can bring the 'Pala because he loves it and Uncle Sam…Uncle Sam, what will you bring?"

Sam pretended to think about it before he answered.

"I think I'll bring all my books from the library," he said.

"They will be heavy," Lydia said seriously. "But you are strong so you can carry them. I will not carry them because I am little."

"Okay, I'll carry them," he said. "But when you are grown up, you won't be little anymore." Lydia shook her head.

"No, I will be little forever because then Daddy won't leave me anymore."

"Hurry up and finish eating so we can go to the surprise."

Bobby stayed to hold down the fort while Sam buckled Lydia into a tan sedan. They drove a while until they reached the downtown area of Sioux Falls.

"Are we getting ice cream?" Lydia asked, craning her neck to peer out the window. Sometimes, Dean brought her to town after dinner.

"Not today, maybe tomorrow."

"Are we going to the toy store?"

"Nope," Sam said, pulling into a parking spot. He lifted Lydia onto his hip and carried her into the building he had parked outside of.

"I don't like it here," Lydia whispered as soon as they walked in, scrunching up her nose. "It smells funny."

"I know," Sam said. "But you get used to it after a while."

"Hello there!" said a cheerful older woman at the front desk. She leaned forward as Sam and Lydia approached. "Welcome to the Sioux Falls SPCA!"

"Thanks," Sam said. "We, uh, want to look at your kittens." At the word kittens, Lydia's ears perked up and she looked excitedly at her uncle.

"I like kittens!" she squealed, kicking her tiny legs so that her toes slammed repeatedly into Sam's thighs.

"I know!" he said. "I thought we might get you one to keep you company while Daddy is gone."

"Daddy is on a trip," Lydia told the woman behind the counter, who was still beaming. "He is gone but coming back. Right, Uncle Sam?"

"That's right," Sam assured her. "We're going to surprise Daddy with a kitten."

"That sounds wonderful!" the woman said. "Let me show you to a viewing room."

Sam and Lydia waited in a tiny room with no windows until the lady came back holding three sleeping kittens in her arms. When she put them on the ground, the two gray ones plunked right to their stomachs and continued their snooze. The third, an orange striped one, walked forward on unsteady feet, reminding Sam of a drunken man walking home from the bar. Lydia, suddenly shy of the tiny creature, hid behind her uncle, grasping the fabric of his jeans as she peeked out from around his leg. Sam crouched down so he was level with the little girl.

"It's okay," he said. He scooped the kitten up; Sam's hand seemed to dwarf the small creature as it sat blinking at them. Then the kitten open it's mouth and a small pink tongue darted out along with a tiny mew.

"Did you see that?" Lydia whispered into Sam's ear. Her fingers were twisted up into Sam's long hair; it was a habit she did with Dean when he was around and without her father, she'd chosen Sam as a substitute for her nervous quirk. "Uncle Sam, he talked to me."

"Go ahead," Sam said, bringing the kitten up to his chest. "You want to pet it?" With her fingers still entangled in his hair, Lydia leaned forward and peered at the kitten, reaching out a tentative hand. When her fingers hit soft fur she left out a squeal.

"Uncle Sam! He's so soft!"

"I think he likes you. Do you want to hold him?" The kitten answered, batting Lydia's wrist with his tiny paw and rubbing his face against her skin. The girl's face lit up in a way Sam hadn't seen since Dean walked out the front door.

"I don't want to break him," Lydia said. "What if I breaked him?"

"You won't break him," Sam said, trying to hold back a chuckle. "Here, just hold him like this, yep two hands, two hands sweetheart, there you go." Lydia stared down at the creature cradled to her chest and then started rocking back and forth on her heels and humming under her breath. The kitten stayed perfectly still and watched the little girl who held him and Sam knew they were taking it home.

"I'm going to name it Princess Glitter," Lydia said when she was strapped back into her car seat, two fingers poked through the wire of the new cat carrier they now possessed.

"Well…" Sam said, "He's a boy kitten. Do you really want to name him Princess Glitter? What about someone from Sesame Street?"

"I will name him Oscar," Lydia said with confidence, kicking Sam's seat as they pulled into the street. "Oscar is my favorite from Sesame Street 'cause he 'minds me of Daddy."

"The one that lives in a trashcan?" Sam said, not picking up the resemblance.

"Uh-huh"

"How does he remind you of Daddy?"

"Because," Lydia explained with an exaggerated air, "when you wake Oscar up he is grumpy and when you wake Daddy up in the morning he is grumpy too. So he's my fav'rite."

"Makes sense," Sam said. And it did; it made a hell of a lot of sense.

Bobby wasn't too keen about having the kitten underfoot but all he had to do was stick his head in Lydia's room when Sam was putting her to bed to change his mind. Oscar was curled up at the head of the bed, right next to Lydia's pillow. She was turned on her side and gently stroking the animal while Sam drew the covers over her.

"Night, Lydia," Bobby said.

"Say goodnight to Oscar too," she instructed.

"Goodnight, Oscar," Bobby said gruffly, smiling to himself as he headed down the hall.

"Uncle Sam?" Lydia whispered as she burrowed under the blankets. Sam was seated on the side of her bed, tickling Oscar's ears. The kitten yawned and stretched his paws before returning to his slumber.

"Yeah?"

"Did Daddy go on the same trip as Mommy?"

"What?" The little girl averted her eyes and her voice dropped even lower.

"Daddy said that Mommy went on a trip and she never comed back."

"Lydia, your Daddy is going to come back. He went on a different kind of trip than Mommy."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. Now give me a hug and go to sleep."

"Say goodnight to Oscar."

"Goodnight, Oscar. Sweet dreams." Lydia giggled and turned over.

"Goodnight, Uncle Sam."

"Night, sweetheart. I love you."

xxx

Dean came stumbling home two days after they brought Oscar home. Sam met him at the front door after he heard the rumble of the Impala pull up the drive. Dean came over the threshold with a limp and one hand wrapped around his side.

"Dean!" Sam said, rushing to support his brother who was swaying dangerously. There was a bruise blossoming on Dean's left cheek and what looked like a burn snaking around his throat.

"Heya, Sammy."

"What happened?"

"Demon was a bastard," Dean said, huffing as Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Watch my ribs. Couple are cracked, I think."

"So where's Cas? Why couldn't he help you out?"

Dean just grunted.

"Alright, let's get you to Bobby's bedroom. I don't think you're gonna make it up the stairs right now." Dean allowed himself to be half-dragged down the hall but dug his heels in when they got outside of Bobby's bedroom.

"Where's Lydia?" he asked, voice clearer than before. He swiveled his head around as if his daughter was going appear next to him.

"Taking a nap. Bobby's got her. C'mon, get on the bed."

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam eased his big brother onto the bed, noticing that Dean was missing a shoe and the ankle of the bare foot was swelled to three times it's normal size.

"I don't want her to see me like this," Dean said, eyes closed. Sam tore his shirt and winced at the bruising up and down his brother's side.

"Bobby's got her, she's not coming in."

"She okay?"

"She's fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Aw, Sammy, I'm fine." He yelped as Sam started examining his ribs.

"Sure you are. Now shut up and let me fix you up."

Dean washed down half a bottle of tylenol while Sam taped his ribs and then his ankle. After an hour, the Hunter was a little more comfortable and not as foggy as he had been. He started asking for his daughter and after five minutes of listening to his insistence, Sam told him she had just woken up from her nap.

"Well, go get her, dumbass," Dean growled. "I've been gone a week, I want to see my daughter!"

"Listen, she was pretty upset when you left, okay? It took a while to calm her down. As in days. So don't be mad."

"Why would I be mad?"

"Daddy!" Dean looked up as Lydia came rushing in the room, a stuffed animal in her arms. She sprang onto the bed and up to her father. "Daddy, you're home!"

"Yeah, honey, I'm home." She paused when she saw his taped ribs.

"Daddy, did you get hurted?"

"Just a little," he said. "But I'm okay. What have you got there? Did Uncle Sam buy you a new toy?"

"No, Daddy," she said, giggling. "You are so silly. Oscar isn't a toy, he's a kitten!"

"A-a what?" He was about to question Sam who was standing at the end of the bed when the smallest cat he'd ever seen was plopped onto his chest. It spread all four legs and meowed right in his face. It was the color of a Halloween pumpkin with blue eyes the same shade as his daughter's. Lydia was rocked back on her heels, beaming at him.

"Sam?" His brother just shrugged and Dean turned his incredulous stare back toward the feline who was padding his way down Dean's chest where he curled into a ball over Dean's exposed belly button, somehow knowing to stay away from the bandages decorating the Hunter's torso. "You've got to be kidding me,"

"Do you like him, Daddy?" Lydia asked, snuggling in next to her father and running her fingers through his week-old scruff. "He likes you, he told me that."

"He told you that?" Lydia nodded into his shoulder.

"He meows at me and I meow back. I would show you but he is sleepy."

"I see that," Dean said, his gaze still on the kitten. His body rose and fell in time with Dean's breathing. Dean had never been an animal person but something in him had to admit that this particular kitten was cute. He put his arm around his daughter and pulled her close to his uninjured side, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled like that cheap brand of strawberry shampoo they bought at the grocery store and it was only then he realized how much he had missed the smell. She smelled like home.

"I missed you," Lydia said and the words dug their way into Dean's heart more than a knife ever could.

"I missed you too," Dean said. "A whole lot."

When Sam walked by the room an hour later, all three of them were asleep and he smiled at the little family: a man, his daughter, and a tiny orange ball of fur.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Don't forget to leave requests or suggestions if you have any! Or just review and tell me what you liked/didn't like :)


	4. Sick Day

**A/N: **I know, two Lydia fics back to back? It won't usually happen like this but I had good inspiration for this story.

So, this story is loosely based off of real-life circumstances. I had chest surgery a couple months ago and had to wear one of my dad's oversized work shirts for a while. My four-year-old neighbor – a little girl I've babysat since she was born – came to visit and was ever so curious as to why I was wearing on my dad's shirts. I explained I wasn't feeling well and it made me feel better.

A couple weeks ago, I was tagged in a picture on facebook of the same little girl wearing an oversized men's shirt. The caption? "Mama, I have the sniffles and I need to wear a Daddy work shirt to feel better. A pink work shirt!"

* * *

><p>Dean was up to his flannel-clad shoulders in vomit. Lydia had been throwing up non-stop for half the night, starting in her own room and leaving a trail of the mess as she stumbled into his room at around three in the morning.<p>

"Daddy?" she sobbed, standing by his bed in the dark. The first thing Dean saw when he opened his eyes was his almost five-year-old daughter puking onto his floor.

"Hey! Oh geez, Lydia." She sobbed harder through the vomiting and Dean got up and turned on the bedside lamp with one hand while rubbing her back with the other.

Four hours later and the sun was coming up. Lydia was sitting in Dean's lap on the bathroom floor, the cold tile long since turning his butt and legs numb. He had stripped her down to her underwear after she'd soiled two sets of pajamas. Her head rested on his chest and as he stroked a hand through her hair, it came away coated with sweat. She was exhausted, half-asleep and half-conscious, mumbling every now and then and shifting her feverish body on top of his as if trying to get comfortable.

"Let's get you up," he said finally, drawing his legs beneath him. It'd been half an hour since she last threw up and he would bet the Impala there was nothing more in her right now to dispel.

"I don't feel well," she whined, clinging to him as he got up on his knees, reaching over and drawing the tap on the bathtub.

"I know, sweetheart. I think you've got the flu or a stomach virus." Sam used to get these as a little kid: twenty-four hour puking fests brought on by their dirty living conditions or spoiled food. But Lydia lived in a clean house and ate pretty damn well as the child of someone who had no steady source of income. And she was smaller than Dean ever remembered Sam being. Even at five, she was hardly breaking forty pounds and though the doctor assured him nothing was wrong with her, it scared Dean to carry around something that seemed so breakable.

When the water was warm, he disentangled himself from her and sat her in the tub where she seemed to wilt, listing to one side as he washed the sweat and vomit from her. He tried to sing a Beatles song to cheer her up but she just peered at him from heavy-lidded eyes and he shut up, finishing the chore in silence except for the gentle slapping of the bathwater.

"I'm cold," she said as he got her in fresh underwear and toweled her off, hugging herself as if that would keep her warm. Dean rubbed at her vigorously, trying himself to start a fire inside the little girl.

"That's because you have a fever," he said. "At least I think you do."

"Are you going to go to work today?" she asked, voice trembling because her teeth were chattering. Dean left for a second to rip the comforter off his bed and then swaddled her in it and lifted her up. He usually worked out in the junkyard, helping Bobby with repairs, earning his keep. Lydia played outside or Sam or Bobby watched her. Now that it was winter, it was harder to keep her occupied while he spent hours working on the cars.

"Not today," he said. She tucked her chin over his shoulder and he could feel the heat from her skin through his t-shirt. "We're going to go to Grandpa's, okay?"

"'Kay," she mumbled. "Don't forget Oscar."

"How could I forget Oscar?" Dean muttered, picking up the six-month-old kitten with his other hand and burying the cat into the blanket with his daughter. Oscar purred and curled up on Lydia's chest, cradled between her body and Dean's shoulder. Before they stepped outside, Dean tugged the blanket up so that it created a hood for the little girl.

"It's cold out," he said. "Put your face on my shoulder so the wind doesn't get you." She did what he said and he almost flat out ran across the yard to Bobby's house, both hands pressing his daughter to his body, trying to shield her from the cold. South Dakota was freaking cold in the winter; they were lucky it hadn't started snowing yet but it was the middle of November, which meant frost was coating the gravel under Dean's boots.

He was slightly out of breath when they got through the back door of Bobby's.

"Okay, you can look up," he said, pulling the blanket down. "You still cold?" Lydia nodded and hooked her arms more tightly around his neck and he hitched her up higher on his hip. "Alright, we'll warm you up. How's your tummy?"

"It hurts," she said. Oscar meowed up at Dean and Dean glowered at the small animal.

"Regular hurt or throwing up hurt?" he asked and Lydia shook her head, a flush starting to creep into her cheeks.

"I don't know." He could see the tears were about to start up again and he quickly soothed her.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay. We're gonna get you set up in a comfy spot on the couch and get you some medicine so that you'll feel better."

"What's up, champ?" Bobby said, coming into the kitchen. "You're here early. It ain't even eight yet."

"Sorry," Dean said. "But I've got a sicko on my hands."

"Uh-oh," Bobby said, coming closer and leaning in to look at the little girl. "Not feeling so well, princess?" Lydia shook her head again and laid it on Dean's shoulder.

"I throwed up," she said.

"Lots," Dean added. "For half the night."

"Oh no," Bobby said. "Sorry to hear that."

"Can you take her to the living room while I call the doctor's office? They have early hours on the weekdays so they should be open about now."

"You gonna take her in?"

"I don't know. I'll see what they say. It might be just the flu but she feels pretty crappy and I don't want it to turn into something else."

"Better safe than sorry," Bobby said, reaching out his arms. Lydia didn't reach back for him but she allowed herself to be handed off.

"Daddy, where are you going?" she asked, as Dean searched the kitchen for a phonebook. He glanced up, face softening as he saw his daughter's anxious expression.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "I'm going to make a phone call while Grandpa puts you on the couch. Bobby, where's Sam?"

"Headed off to help Garth with something in the middle of the night. Don't go looking so alarmed, the boy needed some help with a Crocotta and Sam was itching to do something."

"Bobby, you should have-,"

Bobby cut him off.

"Let's wait on this, okay?" he said, nodding Lydia who was half asleep in his arms. Dean nodded and kept rifling through the drawers until he found the card for the local pediatrician. He spent five minutes on hold but eventually talked to one of the nurses and found out that the flu was indeed going around. He was just hanging up when Bobby called his name from the living room.

"Dean!" The shout was immediately followed by crying and he rushed through the house to find Lydia sitting up on the couch, covered in her own vomit with her arms held away from her body, trying not to get any more mess on herself.

"Daddy!" she cried. "I don't feel good."

"Aw, Liddy, I know," Dean said, crouching next to her and smoothing down her hair. The blanket he had wrapped her in was soiled but she was wearing nothing but underwear beneath it.

"I forgot extra clothes," Dean groaned. "Sweetheart, I have to run back to the house."

"N-no!" she howled, clutching at his shirt. "S-stay here!"

"Why don't you go see if she left any clothes in her old room upstairs?" Bobby suggested. "I'll get a warm towel and we'll clean this right up. Maybe find us a bucket too."

The only thing Dean could find in Lydia's old room was a stack of his old shirts buried in the closet from God knew when. He shook one out and held it up before shrugging and throwing a few over his shoulder. Bobby was washing Lydia off and the little girl was just sniffling now; the tears had ebbed for the moment.

"I don't have any little girl clothes," Dean said, kneeling next to the couch. Lydia's puffy eyes matched her flushed cheeks and Dean's heart broke. "But I have some of Daddy's old shirts." True to form, the child wrinkled her nose when he held them out.

"They won't fit me," she said. "I'm too little."

"It'll be like wearing a dress," Dean said. "And Daddy shirts have extra special powers to make you feel better."

"Really?"

"That's right. It's why I have so many. Ain't that right, Bobby?"

"Sure thing, princess. You wear one of those for the day and I bet you'll be feeling much better tomorrow." Lydia looked doubtful but she allowed Dean to wrap her in one of his old flannels, buttoning it and rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn't get tangled.

"It's very soft," she said, petting the sleeve. "And it smells like you," she told Dean with a small smile on her face. Dean smiled back and then pulled Bobby off to the side.

"I gotta run to the pharmacy. She needs children's Tylenol and we don't have a thermometer here that isn't a hundred years old." Bobby took one look at the glassy-eyed little girl on the couch and shook his head.

"You stay her with her, I'll run out and get what you need."

"Bobby, I can do this," Dean said.

"I know you can but she's not going to take well to you leaving and as important as it is to run errands, sometimes you need to hang back. I've got this one." Dean scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, also eyeing his daughter who was burrowed deep in his shirt and under a new blanket, Oscar lying at her side, purring.

"Thanks, Bobby. I owe you."

"You've been owing me your whole life," Bobby said, heading out of the room. "I'll add it to your tab."

Dean went and found an empty bucket in the back storage room and placed it by the couch where Lydia was already dozing. He turned the TV on mute and started watching some football game from the night before, seated on the floor with his back pressed up against the couch. It was only a couple minutes before he felt a couple fingers sneaking their way through his hair and he smiled at the TV before twisting around.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said. Lydia's eyes were only open half way, as exhausted as she was.

"Daddy, will you sit with me?" she whispered, the sound even more muffled by the way half her mouth was pressed against a cushion.

"I don't want to make your tummy worse," Dean said. He didn't even want to touch her in case that made her worse. He didn't know the rules of parenting yet, let alone the rules of having a sick child. This was the first time Lydia had gotten sick while living with him; she'd never even had as much as a cold before.

"You won't," she said, her fingers trailing down his neck before making a fist around his shirt collar. She was a clingy child to begin with – especially when it came to Dean – and being sick seemed to make her even more anxious to have him around. "Please, Daddy?"

"Alright," he said, picking both her and Oscar up and scooching onto the couch before settling them on his lap. Lydia was still hot with fever but she snuggled into her father, tucking her head beneath his chin in a way that made Dean's heart stutter.

By the time Bobby got back from town, Lydia was fast asleep on Dean's lap with her head in the crook of his arm.

"Ain't that a sight," Bobby said softly, standing in the doorway of the living room. "Never thought I'd see the day Dean Winchester played couch potato with a kid."

"It's crazy," Dean said in a rare moment of tenderness toward his uncle. "But there's something about her, Bobby." He brushed the hair from his daughter's face, fingertips skimming her skin and Bobby Singer was again impressed with the effortlessness Dean exhibited during moments like these. He had his frustrations and the days where he left to head to the shooting range or on a local Hunt but Bobby also noticed the gentle way in which he explained things to Lydia, the way he would get down one knee instead of towering above her, the hours he would spend sitting on the carpet playing dress up or hosting a circus with stuffed animals. It was a side of him Bobby hadn't even known existed and it made his heart ache with happiness that one of his boys had found such a life.

"Here, I got the stuff," Bobby said, unloading the bags onto the coffee table. "Children's Motrin, a thermometer, some stuff for her upset stomach the lady behind the counter sold me, some cough drops in case she gets a sore throat, and some gingerale because that's what I used to give you boys when you were little."

"Thanks again," Dean said, leaning forward with the little girl still fast asleep in his arms. He grabbed the thermometer off the table and sat back. The instrument was thin and rounded on one end with a tiny screen of digital numbers.

"What if I do it wrong?" Dean said anxiously, staring at it. Bobby scoffed.

"You ain't gonna do it wrong. It can't hurt her. You just press the button – that's what these instructions say – and then stick it under her armpit and wait until it beeps three times. Easy as pie."

"This is so not as easy as pie," Dean muttered. He shifted Lydia from one arm to the other and started unbuttoning her shirt. It was so big he only needed to undo the top button before he could slide it down over one arm. She slept through the whole thing.

"How long do we have to wait?" Dean said, glancing between Bobby and the thermometer. "What if it's broken?"

"It's not broken," Bobby assured him. "Give it time."

The three beeps came a minute later and Dean eased the thermometer out, his face paling when he saw the numbers.

"It says 101.3°," Dean said.

"And this book here says you add a degree if you don't put the thermometer in the mouth. So 102.3°."

"God. What do I do?"

"We'll give her some of the fever stuff and see if it helps." Dean glanced down at his daughter again, who looked peaceful except for the fever patches on her cheeks. He sat her up in his arms.

"Lydia? Liddy, time to wake up." She moaned and turned her head into his chest.

"Just like her daddy," Bobby mused, pouring out the correct dosage of the medicine. "Waking you up was the worst part of watching you and Sam. Your brother would just hop out of bed but you had to be dragged. Literally a couple times."

"Yeah, I remember," Dean said dryly. He could still feel the sensation of hauled down the hallway by one ankle by his uncle when he was fifteen. "Lydia, come on, wake up." She blinked up at him but stayed curled around his body, unwilling to cooperate.

"No," she said. Bobby handed Dean the medicine and he balanced it in one hand while trying to keep Lydia from slumping over again.

"If you drink this, you will feel better," Dean promised but Lydia eyed the liquid with disinterest. "Bobby, get the cat out of the way, would you?" Bobby grabbed hold of Oscar by the scruff of his neck before he upset the medicine. Apparently, it smelled good to the kitten.

"Don't hurt him!" Lydia shrieked, sitting up and reaching for her pet.

"I'm not hurting him," Bobby said. "Look, I think he likes it." It was true; Dean could almost see the amused look in Oscar's eyes as he dangled from Bobby's grip.

"Just drink this little bit of medicine," Dean said. "And Oscar can go back to sleep with you."

"No!" Lydia dragged her little body off Dean's lap and crawled to the other end of the couch, her knees tugging on the too-big shirt with every movement. Dean sighed. Then there were moments like this where he really _really_ wished he had practiced safe sex those five years ago. Just one little slip-up and he had resorted to bargaining with a sick and obstinate preschooler.

"If you drink it all, we can put on your favorite movie," Dean said.

"No."

"Don't you want to feel better?"

"No."

"Now you're just saying it to make me mad."

Lydia glared at him.

"What if I try it first?" Dean finally suggested. Lydia's eyes widened and she cocked her head just an inch. "Want me to try it and see if it tastes good?" He'd forgotten this was an old tactic that had always worked with Sam when their meals hadn't been all that pleasant. But if Dean ate something, Sam would always follow.

"Okay," Lydia said, crawling back over to him and sitting about six inches from his face as he took a sip of the orange liquid. He smacked his lips for emphasis.

"Well…" he said, drawing the moment out to keep her interested.

"Did it taste bad?" she asked.

"It actually tastes just like juice," Dean told her and saw her hesitate. Lydia was overly protective of her juice; it was usually the first thing she asked for in the morning.

"I want to try," she said.

"Okay, open up."

She swallowed the medicine and made no comment, just snuggled back up next to Dean, who rolled his eyes at all the theatrics. Bobby set Oscar back on the couch and hoisted himself off the ground, muttering something about "less drama in the kitchen." Dean turned the channel to the cartoon station and let Lydia drift back to sleep, feeling his own eyes grow heavy. He had, after all, been up just as long as she had and all this stress was wearing him out. He'd just close his eyes for a second…

xxx

He woke up to an elbow jabbing into his stomach and Lydia coughing in a way that signaled what was coming next. Dean grabbed the bucket from the floor just in time, holding it steady while making sure the little girl's hair stayed out of the way. Bobby showed up a minute later, meeting his eyes over Lydia's head.

"How long were we out?" Dean asked quietly.

"About an hour. I was doing some reading in the library and heard her start going off."

"Yeah," Dean said, sighing.

"Daddy," Lydia said. There was a string of gooey drool going from her lips into the bucket and she used two fingers to detach it from her mouth.

"I'm right here," Dean said. "Do you need to throw up some more?" Lydia shook her head.

"All done," she whispered and spit into the bucket. "Daddy, my throat hurts."

"Alright," Dean said, reaching for a towel and wiping her mouth and hands. "We'll get you something to drink."

"Daddy?"

Lydia twisted around his lap and he tucked her too-long bangs behind her ear.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Grandpa should take Oscar home," Lydia said seriously. Bobby walked into the room and handed Lydia a cup of water. She took it with both hands with Dean helping for balance but didn't drink yet.

"Grandpa, can you take Oscar home?"

"Why would you want that?" Bobby asked. The kitten had been woken up by the sound of vomiting and was now laying stretched out on the top of the couch, peering down at the two Winchesters with curiosity. Lydia was almost as attached to Oscar as she was to Dean and the feeling was mutual: he slept with her, ate with her, walked in her shadow.

"Because I don't want him to be sick like me. What if he catched my throw up?"

"Aw, he won't," Dean said, struggling to keep a straight face. Bobby was doing the same.

"He might," Lydia said. One of the sleeves on Dean's shirt fell over her shoulder and she hiked it back up, spilling some water on her dad's lap as she did so.

"Cats can't get sick like humans."

"But he throwed up that one time," Lydia reminded him. She coughed right in Dean's face and he grimaced.

"Take a sip of water. No, I'll hold it. There you go, atta girl."

"Oscar throwed up," she repeated once she had finished.

"That was kitty sickness," Dean said. He couldn't believe he had just said the word kitty out loud. "And you have little girl sickness."

"So Oscar can stay?" Dean readjusted both of them on the couch and then pulled the cat down into Lydia's lap.

"Yes, Oscar can stay here. Besides, he'd be lonely at home by himself."

"You're so smart, Daddy," Lydia said. She pulled the blanket around herself and Dean and went laid back against Dean.

"Grandpa, can you put in a movie?"

"Sure, princess. What do you want to watch?"

"He-Man and She-Ra," she said. "She-Ra is my favorite because she has a unicorn. Do you like her too, Daddy?"

"You bet," Dean said but he would have said anything to make Lydia happy. He didn't care that she smelled like sweat and soap, and he didn't care that this day put him in an almost sure position to be puked on. He just cared about making the child on his lap the most comfortable she could be because that was his job.

And Dean Winchester loved his job.


	5. Dancing with Dad

He had gotten used to being called Uncle Sam, he'd gotten used to Dean living in a different house, and the fact he was expected to show up at that house for Sunday dinner. Sam wasn't entirely on board with the lifestyle Dean had picked, but over the years he got used to it.

But he would never get used to the fact that Dean was gone – truly gone this time. He'd left Sam behind, left him to take care of the wife and daughter he'd also abandoned when he'd rushed into the collapsing building, determined to save the trapped child on the second floor. The child survived. Dean did not.

Sam was at home, enjoying his first Friday off in forever when Dean's widowed wife called him for a favor. Their daughter needed to be picked up from school early and she couldn't get there in time. That was another thing Sam couldn't get used to: that even though Dean wasn't alive, there was a half of him just wandering around, breathing the same air Dean had, wearing his eyes and his smile.

Sydney was twelve and every bit of her father. She was sarcastic in a way most twelve year old usually were and bitter in a way most adults were not. But when she smiled, Sam saw the future in her eyes and when she laughed, he heard his brother spilling from her. She had inherited his fierce loyalty to family, something that had only grown stronger in the six months since Dean's death.

The secretary at the school led him into the principal's office and there was Sydney with her backpack on her lap and a bruise blossoming on her cheek.

"Mr. Winchester," the principal said in greeting.

"Are you okay?" Sam said and Sydney nodded without lifting her gaze from the floor.

"Your niece has gotten into trouble for fighting. Again."

"What happened?"

"She won't say." Sam wasn't surprised; the girl wasn't a snitch and trusted few adults, another footprint of Dean's left upon her. "But the other student involved is saying Sydney was the one who instigated the altercation." Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. This wasn't the first time they'd been in this situation; Sydney had also inherited Sam's quick temper.

"Okay," Sam said.

"We're suspending her for the rest of the day. Since it's Friday, I won't extend the suspension. However, if this happens again, the suspension will be for two weeks."

"Understood. Let's go, Syd." The girl stood, hugging her backpack to her chest. She left the office first and Sam was about to follow when the principal called him back.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm aware of Sydney's…delicate…home situation. But if she doesn't start improving her grades and staying out of trouble, she's going to have to repeat the sixth grade. I know she's taking the death of her father hard, but we could give you some names of the some excellent child psychologists…"

"Thank you," Sam said, giving a tight-lipped smile. "I'll let her mother know." Sydney was waiting outside the office and they walked out together, Sam palming the keys to his pick-up.

"You want to talk about it?" he said once the doors were shut. Sydney shook her head. "You're gonna have to talk about to me or your mom."

"What are you here anyway?"

"Your mom had a meeting and asked me to come."

"She always has meetings." Sydney pushed her back to the floor of the truck and stuck her feet up on the dash.

"C'mon, you're not mad at your mom," Sam said, trying to get to the bottom of the problem.

"Maybe I am," she shot back. "How would you know?" Sam sat back and stared out the windshield, wondering if he was really about to have this conversation. There had been mentions of Dean since his death, of course, but Sydney made it clear she was uncomfortable talking about her father at length. The two of them had been incredibly close, close enough that the girl had cried herself to sleep for two weeks after the funeral.

"I think you're mad at your dad," Sam said. His niece's snapped to the side so fast he swore he heard a crack. In that moment, Sydney looked like she wanted to slap him, channeling her father perhaps more than she ever had before.

"No, I'm not!"

"Syd, it's okay."

"I'm not mad at him, that's so stupid!"

"Then why did you hit that kid?" She glanced away, hands knotted in her lap and her voice was flat and hollow when she said,

"Next week is the father/daughter dance."

Sam hadn't been expecting that and had no answer at the ready. How stupid could he be…Sydney usually always had a reason for being upset. And this was a very good one. The school always held a father/daughter dance for the sixth graders before they went to junior high. Sydney had been looking forward to it ever since she had seen the girls all dressed up last year, and Sam knew Dean had been looking forward to it as well. He had even planned on taking her out to a special dinner beforehand.

"Aubrey told me that I couldn't go because I didn't have a dad anymore and that I wouldn't get to go the seventh grade." She shrugged. "So I hit her. And she hit me back."

"Sounds like you did the right thing." The words were out of his mouth before he remembered he was supposed to be a role model now. Wide green eye turned toward him, but he had to look away because all he could see was Dean sitting next to him. How many times had Dean sat next to him in the front seat of a car?

"Don't tell your mother I said that."

"Dad always said I should only hit someone for a really good reason. This seemed like a good reason."

Sam nodded and started the truck, pulling out of the parking lot toward Dean's house. It wasn't far from the school but after a minute, Sydney took her feet off the dash and tucked them under her.

"Maybe I am a little mad at him," she said quietly, almost whispering. "Uncle Sam, I think I'm mad at my dad." She started crying and didn't try to hide it like she usually did, just let the tears pour out while tugging her sleeves over palms as if trying to disappear. Sam pulled the truck over on a side street and let it idle while she cried.

"It's okay," he said after a minute. "I'm pretty mad at him too."

"You are?" Sam nodded, unable to let go of the steering wheel.

"Yeah, I'm mad. He was my brother and I miss him and wish he could have stayed with us."

"We didn't even get to say goodbye," she said softly, wiping the tears with her sleeve. "Firefighting is stupid."

"I would have loved to say goodbye," Sam said, half to himself and half to the child next to him. "But he was a hero, we can't forget that."

"I don't care." Sydney had heard those words over and over since her dad dead. He was a hero, he had saved so many people, had been the most liked guy at the fire station. But she didn't care if he was a hero because he was dead and she would rather him alive and a goddamn villain than a dead hero.

"I know," Sam said and she started to cry again. Sam moved the truck back onto the road. "I have an idea. Let's go say hi to your dad."

Sam went to the cemetery frequently enough that he could imagine Dean calling him too sentimental but he gravitated toward his brother's headstone just like he had always found his way back to Dean when he was alive. The tombstone they had let Sydney pick out was under the shade of a tree, just a gray stone with the words Dean Winchester engraved on the front. That was it: no birth date, no death date, no quote or verse of poetry. It's the way Sam knew Dean would have wanted it and his wife hadn't argued; perhaps she had also known.

"I don't want to get out," Sydney said when they parked, stubbornly looking anywhere but in the direction of her father's body.

"C'mon, I have some dropcloth in the bed of the truck from my last paint job. You don't even have to sit in the grass."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" Sydney shrugged, fiddling with the strap on her backpack. The air in the truck felt too stale but she didn't want to get out, didn't want to face what was out there. Or rather what wasn't out there. Because she knew her dad would never be waiting for her again. Would never look up with that silly smile when she walked in the door from school, would never make burgers with her in the middle of the night just because he was hungry and couldn't sleep. She's never again get to toss around the football with him and Uncle Sam on Sunday afternoons and he'd never be able to make her laugh again with one of his corny jokes.

There were so many things that were never going to happen again that it was hard to focus on the things that might.

"Did your dad ever tell you about all the trouble he got in when he was your age?" Sam said, one hand on the door handle. She looked over at him curiously.

"No."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess he wouldn't have." Sam opened the door and stepped out of the truck, grabbing the paint-splattered dropcloth. "I'm going to go sit for a while. You can stay here but don't turn up the stereo too loud."

He knew she would follow but it took a good five minutes before he heard the sound of her coming up behind him. Even all these years later, his Hunter senses didn't fail him and the sound of a shoe pressing into soft ground alerted him to her presence. She dropped onto the ground next to him without a word and stared at the headstone in front of them.

It was weird to think that the great Dean Winchester, the instrument of Heaven, the one who had saved the whole world, was now gone and this was all that was left of him. A lump of granite with some scribblings on it. It made Sam ache and it made him want to make sure Dean's daughter knew how great he was.

"I bet your dad didn't talk much about growing up, did he?"

"No," Sydney said, pulling up fistfuls of grass and sprinkling them on to the dropcloth. "He always said he'd tell me when I got older."

"Well, your dad and I moved around a lot when we were little. You know how he had a hard time staying in one place? How he was always looking at the real estate section of the newspaper? That's because your Grandpa John raised us one the road. It was probably pretty hard for your dad to talk about."

"I guess."

"But you are a lot like him, Syd."

"I know, I know, I look like him," she said, rolling her eyes and pulling up another fistful of grass. "Everyone keeps telling me that."

"Not just in looks. But in the way you take care of your mom just like your dad. And the way you pick fights in school. Which by the way, you have to stop doing or you're going to get held back."

"Did Dad ever get held back?" Sam smiled at the thought of a teenage Dean being told he was getting held back a grade.

"No, but your dad wasn't into his education that much. And I know he wanted better for you. You might be acting like him by getting into fight and not doing your homework but he wouldn't want that. There are other ways you can be like him."

"Like what?" The yearning in her voice made Sam's heart skip a beat and he carefully met her gaze, trying not to flinch at the open rawness he saw in them. She reminded him of himself when he was young and always looking up to Dean. Now, he was the role model, filling the shoes of someone's whose feet – and heart – had been ten times larger than his own. But Dean had always tried to do his best by Sam and now Sam was going to return the favor.

"I can show you his old music collection," Sam offered. "And his old car."

"The Impala?"

"Yeah, we – I – keep it in a garage storage unit but I bet I can get it working again. Your dad taught me a lot about cars."

"Can I drive it?" He chuckled at her eagerness.

"You know what, kid? I think your dad would love that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If you liked it (or didn't!) leave a review and tell me why! As always, I'm open to suggestions and requests.


	6. Feathered Friend

**A/N: **This is a request for **hopper18 **who asked for Uncle Cas. I will never write Destiel so this is Dean and Cas friendship only. But I think it's pretty cute.

* * *

><p>Dean could shoot a revolver and talk on the phone at the same time, he had no problem driving the Impala sixty miles an hour on the phone, and he rather prided himself on that one time he had managed to talk on his cell while being tied up to the bed with not one but two waitresses he'd brought home that night prancing above him.<p>

But goddammit, the Hunter could just not figure out how to put on a two-year-old's shoes and answer the phone. The task was proving especially difficult since Sam's son had taken to repeating the phrase 'I do it! I do it!' over and over right into Dean's left ear.

"Uncle Dean, your cell phone is ringing!" Sam's other child, a girl of eight ran up and held out Dean's glowing cell.

"Thanks," Dean said, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, fully expecting to hear Sam's voice on the other end.

"Dean, is that you?"

"Cas?"

"I detect a large amount of screaming going on. Is everything okay?" Dean finally got one of the Velcro sneakers on his nephew and he switched knees to get to the other.

"Listen, Cas, it's not really a good time. I'm – uh – helping Sam out with something."

"Is he okay?" The concern in Cas's voice must have had something to do with the particularly ear-splitting howl Will let out.

"_I do it!"_

"Dean?" Dean gritted his teeth as Caroline danced around him.

"Caroline, put your coat on. We're leaving soon," he said, tilting the phone away from his mouth. Still, Cas heard. He always heard.

"Are you at Sam's house?"

"Yes, Cas. And I'm in the middle of something. What do you need?"

"Well, I could have used some assistance but it sounds as if you are otherwise occupied." Dean rolled his eyes and then held back a triumphant shout as Will's other shoe finally attached itself to the wriggling feet. He quickly snatched up the child's coat before the toddler could escape and wrestled him into it.

"Yeah, sorry," he told Cas.

"Uncle Dean, can I bring my book?" Caroline wanted to know, already clutching it in her hand.

"Sure," he said. "Go buckle yourself in the car. My car!" he shouted after her as she darted out the front door.

"Dean?"

"Why are you still there, Cas? I told you, I'm busy right now." He checked for his wallet and then swung Will onto his hip where the toddler immediately began playing with the closest toy in reach – Dean's ear.

"I have a demon problem." Dean snorted.

"So says the angel."

"Yes. I am the angel and I said I have a demon problem."

"It was just an expression, never mind."

"So, jut for clarification, you are not helping me?"

"I am not helping you," Dean agreed, somehow getting the Impala door opening and dumping Will in his carseat. Caroline was sitting in the front seat, flipping through the cassettes Dean kept under the passenger seat. "I am taking Caroline and Will to the mall because Sam's sister-in-law is in the hospital and they want to visit. So I'm watching the kids and they need new shoes."

"That sounds…fun?" offered Cas, his gravelly voice unsure.

"We'll see," Dean said, getting Will snapped in and shutting the door. "Listen man, I gotta go. I'll call you later though."

"Goodbye." Dean hung up and got into the driver's seat. He glanced over at his niece.

"Hey you, get out of the front seat." She stopped going through the tapes and giggled.

"Why?"

"Because you're eight and eight-year-olds have to ride in the back of the car," he said. "Now scoot!" She crawled into the backseat and buckled herself in, staying out of reach of her brother's sticky hands and opening the book. She was reading by the time they pulled out of the driveway and glancing back in the rearview mirror, Dean swore he saw young Sam for an instant, head bent over and lost in the words on the page.

Dean was rather surprised when they got to the mall and there was a man waiting for them at the entrance. A man in a trenchcoat. Who was wearing a blue tie. And looked lost.

"What are you doing here?"

"You sounded like you could use another set of hands," Cas said, literally holding up his two hands. Dean readjusted Will to his other hip and squinted at the angel.

"Dude, you don't know what you're getting yourself into. You're going to hate the mall."

"I love the mall!" Caroline piped up. She had left the book in the car and was staring at Cas with her arms folded across her chest. "Hey, you're the guy who had Christmas with us last year!"

"That's correct," Cas said.

"And you didn't bring me any presents," Caroline remembered, quirking an eyebrow.

"I apologize. I wasn't aware of the tradition down here on Earth."

"Cas!" Dean said, eyes widening and hoping Caroline hadn't picked up on anything but she was busy picking up the toy car her brother had brought out of the car and promptly thrown to the ground.

"Car!" Will said happily once it was back in his hands. He chucked it at Cas who ducked just in time. Caroline skipped ahead to retrieve the car from where it had skittered across the curb.

"No throwing," Dean said, trying to be stern but his nephew just laughed, blue eyes shining out at him.

"Dee!" he said. "My car!"

"Yeah, your sister's got it. Chill, little man."

"Dee, down!" Will said, kicking at his uncle's stomach to get down.

"Wait until we get inside," Dean said, ushering all of them inside before setting the toddler down but keeping a firm hold on his hand. "Cas, keep an eye on Caroline, will you?" he said as the little girl ran ahead of them, staring into the window of the nearest store. Having to walk slightly stooped to hold onto Will, the Hunter made his way over to the directory and scoured the board for the shoe store.

"Dee, dis way!" Will said, trying in vain to detach himself from his uncle. "Dis way!"

"I think we need to go up a floor," he muttered, as Will's feet ran in place next to him, pulling Dean's arm all the way to the side. "Yeah, it should be right above us. Hey, guys!" he called, coming out from behind the directory to find neither Cas nor Caroline waiting for him.

"Oh my god," he said. "Cas! Caroline! Jesus, where's your sister, Will?" Will looked up at him.

"Sissy?"

"Yeah, where is she?"

"Not here," Will said, shaking his head. Dean picked him back up so they could move faster. He only hoped the child was with Cas…oh god, he never thought he'd say that. The angel had probably never even held a conversation with an eight year old before. It was possibly that Cas had even left the mall, had evaporated into thin air with a little help from his feathered friends. The thought made him break into a trot, Will bouncing in his arms.

"Where Sissy?" Will asked, turning up a hand in question and looking adorable while doing it.

"I don't know, little man," Dean said, craning his neck when he made it to the main walkway of the mall. There weren't a lot of people around but those that were definitely didn't resemble Sam's daughter. Oh my god, he had lost his brother's child. "Cas!"

"Sissy!" Will called, mimicking Dean's tone. "Sissy, where you?"

The panic was surging fierce now, squeezing Dean's chest in a vise. The memory of losing Sam in a supermarket when he was little floated back to him. This was _so _much worse.

"Cas!" Dean said, deciding to go down the right side of the mall, glancing into the stores as he went. He was three or four stores deep when he saw the back of a trenchcoat disappearing further into a store. "Cas!" The trenchcoat paused and whirled. Cas's face grinned at him.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean hurried into the store, which appeared to be a pet store. It smelled rank and there were cages scattered around, containing rodents Dean didn't even know the name of.

"Birdy!" Will squealed, leaning out of Dean's arms and trying to stick his fingers in the large cage holding several dozen brightly colored birds. "Tweet tweet," he said to his uncle, pointing at the cage.

"Where's Caroline?" Dean asked the angel. "Cas, please tell me you have her."

"She wanted to see the puppies," Cas said, shrugging. "I wanted to see them too. I think small dogs are cute."

"Cas, you cannot just disappear like that. I mean, you two can't just wander off."

"I'm keeping an eye on her," Cas said. "She's right back there."

"Yes, but we need to stay together as a group though."

"You failed to tell me that," Cas said. Dean sighed, a long breath out through his nose. He could hardly handle the two children let alone them plus a clueless angel. Cas was great at fighting battles and self sacrifice and biblical lore but when it came to shopping and other human activities…not so much. But Dean just had to get through today. Sam was coming home tonight and tomorrow Dean could go back to the Bunker and back to hunting.

"Okay, but from now on stick close."

"Uncle Dean, come see this puppy!" A shout came from the back of the store and the three of them made their way to Caroline, who was sitting on the floor while a golden-haired puppy rolled around in her lap.

"Doggie!" Will said, kicking at Dean again, who let him down. Will rushed over to the puppy and fell to his knees, holding out his hands just as the puppy launched himself at the toddler.

"Eeeeee!" the toddler screeched as the puppy licked his face. Caroline grabbed at the dog's collar and hauled it backwards. Dean crouched beside the children.

"You okay, little man?" he asked. Will looked dazed but nodded, this time staying close to his uncle's leg as he reached out again for the dog. He kept one hand clinging to the folds of Dean's jeans while he patted the dog with the other.

"Doggie," he said, looking up at Dean who nodded in affirmation.

"Yep, that's a doggie."

"Can we keep him, Uncle Dean?" Caroline said, staring up at him with a look he knew too well. It was the same one Sam gave him when he wanted something. The exact same.

"This canine is extraordinarily soft," Cas said who was now also on the floor and petting the dog's ears. "Dean, feel the ears."

"I'm good, thanks," Dean said. "And no we can't keep him."

"Aw please?" Caroline said. "Pleaaaase!"

"Pwease," Will said without having any idea what he was begging for. Dean brushed dog hairs off the kid's shirt.

"I think this dog would make a fine companion," Cas said, scrunching up his nose as the puppy jumped up and licked him on the chin.

"No," Dean said, wondering when exactly he had become the voice of reason. "Definitely not. Your parents would kill me."

"Dad loves dogs," Caroline point out.

"Good doggie," Will said, grabbing the dog's tail.

"Time for shoes," Dean said, standing up. "Let's go."

All three of them pouted on their way out the store. Will got over it as soon as he found a penny on the mall floor that Dean quickly confiscated but Cas and Caroline both sulked all the way to the second floor of the mall.

"Who's getting shoes first?" Dean said as they walked into the kid's shoe store. All of the decorations inside were bubbly and cheerful and the words on the wall were scribbled to mock a child's scrawl. Usually the kind of place Dean avoided.

"I want these!" Caroline said, holding up a pair of bright purple fuzzy boots. Dean looked on in disgust.

"What are those?" Caroline frowned down at them as she stroked the foot of one.

"Uggs. Everyone has them."

"Well, you're not getting them. Your dad said to get you guys sneakers."

"I don't want sneakers."

"No want sneaters," Will echoed, plopping down on the floor and starting to play with the instrument that measured shoe size.

"Yes, you do," Dean said, sounding a little desperate. "Cas, tell them how cool sneakers are."

"Very cool," Cas said. "They um, they let you run."

"That's right," Dean said, surprised Cas had said something useful. "They'll make you fast."

"Dee, no sneaters," Will said. He grinned, the dimples showing up on his cheeks, making Dean smile back at him. An employee walked over.

"Can I help you?" The guy was older, probably in his mid-fifties with graying hair and thick-lensed glasses.

"Shoes," Cas said helpfully. "The little people need shoes."

"The children?" the employee said.

"Yeah," Dean said, shooting Cas a glance. "Uh, we can do the little guy first. Will stand up buddy, show me how much you love taking off your shoes." Will was happy to oblige and he pulled the shoes off and threw them at the employee who was kneeling next to him.

"Sorry," Dean said. The man – whose nametag read 'Hank' – merely grunted.

"What color?" Hank asked as Will danced back and forth on the spot, held in place by Dean's hand on the hood of his jacket.

"I don't care," Dean said.

"Blue," Cas said, narrowing his eyes and looking Will up and down. "Dark blue."

"Sure, sounds good," Dean said and Hank left for the back room. "Caroline, did you find sneakers yet?"

"Yeah!" she called, rounding the corner with at least four different sneakers in her arms. She let them tumble to Dean's feet. "I like these ones."

"You can't have all of those," Dean said. "One pair of sneakers. That's what your dad said." Why was this such a difficult concept to grasp? He didn't get what all the fuss was about; he and Sam had almost never had brand new shoes or clothes or anything growing up. Shoes were shoes, what did it matter what they looked like?

"But I like all of them," she said, sitting down on the bench next to them and lining up the sneakers in front of her. One was pink and one had a pattern of butterflies while still another were blue and green checked.

"But which one do you like the _best_?" Cas said, sitting down next to her. He pointed to the butterfly patterned ones. "I like those." She looked at him with curiosity.

"You do?"

"Yes. They are very existential." Dean rolled his eyes and let the two of them go at it as Hank came back from the storeroom carrying two boxes. Dean tried to make the process of trying on shoes seem as exciting as possible to Will who was staring at him with a dubious expression that reminded Dean of Sam. These kids were just like their father and it was freaking him out.

"No Dee," Will said when Dean told to walk around in the new shoes. "No like."

"Do they hurt?" Dean asked as Hank tested the shoes with his thumb. Will considered the question and his uncle's face before answering.

"Yes."

"They seem to fit fine," Hank said, sitting back on his heels.

"Well, he says they hurt. We should take them off," Dean said, staring the man down. It took a whole three seconds. Hank was the kind of man Dean's enemies ate for dessert. After they killed the other guys. The second pair of shoes must have had jetpacks attached because Will immediately started waddle-running around the store with Hank running after him as the toddler knocked down various shoes on display.

"Did you choose a pair?" Dean asked Caroline as he watched the chase out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't deny that he was having a lot of fun watching Hank try to catch the notoriously fast toddler. Dean knew that Will was loving it, the toddler's laughter carried all the way back to the group.

"Yes," Caroline said, holding up the white sneakers with the colored butterfly on them. Dean tried not to wrinkle his nose. "Cas says they remind him of the apocalypse." Dean coughed loudly in surprise.

"What?" he asked, recovering and clearing his throat.

"It's true," Cas said. "Butterflies are a symbol of hope. The world was in great need of hope during the apocalypse." Dean really wished there wasn't an eight year old around so that he could ask Cas if the angel had been smoking anything lately.

"Riiiight," he said. "I'm going to go get your brother."

After purchasing both pairs of shoes and apologizing several times for the havoc Will had wreaked on the store, they left, Dean carrying the shopping bags while Cas carried Will. The toddler had developed a fascination with Cas's tie and currently had it wrapped around his wrist and was tugging it from Cas's neck. The angel put up with it beautifully.

"Alright, let's go home," Dean said, relieved that the outing was almost over. They hadn't even been gone two hours and he was wiped. How did Sam do this every day? His respect for his brother tripled on the spot.

"I want ice cream," Caroline said as they passed an ice cream stand.

"Ice cweam!" Will shouted and even Cas smiled.

"Please, Uncle Dean?" Caroline said, pushing out her bottom lip and tucking her hands together in prayer. He noticed Cas watching the movement with his head cocked. Before he could ask any questions, Dean answered,

"Sure. Let's go."

"Ice cweam! Will said as they approached the stand. "'nilla ice cweam," he said to Cas who nodded as if the kid was reporting on the stock market.

"I want chocolate with sprinkles in a sugar cone," Caroline said. "What do you want, Cas?" The angel looked surprised and he turned to Dean.

"Do I get ice cream too?"

"Sure," Dean said, taking out his wallet. "My treat."

"Thanks, Uncle Dean," Caroline said after they got the ice cream and were sitting on the benches by the store. Dean looked behind him and smiled at his niece. Will wasn't trusted to hold his own cone so Dean was holding onto it while the kid took random bites and licks, letting the sticky dessert dribble onto his uncle's fingers without care. Cas was happily licking at his strawberry cone.

"You're welcome, kiddo," Dean said. Caroline got up and walked over to he and Will, sitting on the other side of Dean and leaned up against her uncle, looking up at him with Sam's eyes and her grandmother's smile.

"You're definitely my favorite uncle."

Despite the fact that Dean was her only uncle, he still thought that compliment was one of the best he'd ever gotten.

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><p><strong>AN:** If you liked it (or didn't!) leave a review and tell me why! As always, I'm open to suggestions and requests.


	7. Caller ID

**A/N: **Summary: A curious little voice picks up Sam's cellphone when Dean calls home. This is a Lydia and Dean oneshot.

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><p>It took almost losing his arm to the jaws of a werewolf before Dean had the creature tied up satisfactorily. He'd done this one on his own because the werewolf was a juvenile and Dean had been coming home from a longer Hunt when Bobby dropped the tip. The problem was, he didn't have a silver bullet. Every goddamn weapon and tool sat in the back of the Impala except for the one thing he needed.<p>

He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's cell, hoping his brother could locate another Hunter nearby or help him out at all. The phone rang four times with no answer and Dean was about to hang up when the other end clicked on.

"Hello?"

"Lydia?"

"Daddy!" The squeal from the other end was so loud that Dean had to jerk the phone away from his ear.

"Liddy, why did you answer Uncle Sam's phone?"

"Daddy, you're supposed to say hi when you call someone," she instructed, just like Dean had taught her when he told her she could call him while he was away.

"Hi, Lydia."

"Hi, Daddy!"

"Sweetheart, why did you answer Uncle Sam's phone?"

"'Cause it was ringing," she said. Dean tried his best not to sigh in exasperation. Behind him, the young werewolf was coming to and he didn't want to have to think about shooting the teenager, not while his own child was talking to him on the phone.

"Where's Uncle Sam now?"

"I don't know. Daddy, do you know want to know what I did today?"

"Honey, I'm kind of busy." He could practically hear her pout over the line. "Okay," he relented the next second. "But give me the super fast version."

"I woke up," said Lydia. "And then I brushed my teeth like you taught me." The werewolf was definitely waking up and Dean stepped further away so the groans of pain wouldn't be overheard by his daughter. "Daddy, are you listening?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm listening. What else did you do?"

"After breakfast Grandpa took me and Oscar to the park and it was so fun we went on the slides and the swing-," she took another breath to finish her sentence, "_and _the jungle gym!"

"You took Oscar to the park?" Dean said, distracted. "What if he ran away?" Lydia giggled into the phone, jumpstarting Dean's heart. He loved that sound; it was one of pure happiness.

"You are silly," she said happily. "Oscar was on a leash!"

"A leash?"

"Uncle Sam bought him one at the store where they sell fish and bunnies. It's pink!"

"Of course it is," Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and really hoping Bobby remembered to take pictures. He was dying to see a picture of Lydia walking Oscar around with a pink leash.

"Do you miss me, Daddy?" Lydia asked innocently.

"Yes," Dean said firmly. "I miss you so much it hurts."

"Do you miss Oscar too?" Dean clenched his jaw and glanced back at the werewolf. The boy was looking at him and glaring overtop of the duct tape on his mouth.

"Of course I do. Honey, can you please put Uncle Sam on the phone?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"He is downstairs and I am upstairs. You told me not to go downstairs by myself."

"I know I did," Dean said, thinking of how they had moved all of the dangerous items in the house to the panic room in an effort to "childproof". "That's okay, don't go downstairs."

"I'm eating crackers and watching TV," she told him. "My Little Pony is on and my favorite pony is trying to climb the rainbow but it is too slippery. Daddy, what's your favorite color?"

"Where's Grandpa? Is he around?"

"Your favorite color, Daddy," she repeated. "What is it?"

"Blue," he said, picking a color at random. Lydia sighed in distress.

"Mine is pink but it's not on the rainbow. Why not?"

"I don't know." There was stretch of silence and he thought she might have hung up. "Liddy?"

"I thought you knew everything." It was a confused accusation; the little girl really believed that Dean knew everything.

"Pink isn't on the rainbow because…" Dean scoured his thoughts for a good reason. "Because pink is too pretty a color and it made all the other colors feel bad."

"That makes sense," Lydia said. "Oscar just jumped in my lap!" she said, laughing. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"I don't really-." Dean heard the sound of the phone going through the air and then Lydia's tiny voice shouting.

"Okay, Daddy, talk to him. He's listening! Oscar, listen because Daddy is on the phone." Dean grimaced and stayed quiet, hoping Lydia would come back on. It was no use. "Daddy, you have to talk!"

"Uh, hi Oscar," Dean said, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper. "I hope you're being a good kitty." There was a loud snort from behind him and Dean snapped his head around to find the werewolf smirking, or at least trying to through the tape. He walked back into the room and slapped the boy across the cheek to get him to shut up.

"Daddy, are you there?"

"Right here, sweetheart."

"When are you coming home?"

"Real soon. Liddy, where's Grandpa?"

"Taking a nap in the kitchen."

"He's what?" He heard the familiar thumping of little feet as Lydia ran from the living room to the kitchen and then sharp little pants.

"I'm sneaking around the corner," came her almost-whisper. "Just like you taught me to be sneaky. And," she giggled hard, "Yup, he's sleeping on a chair." Dean smiled at the thought of his daughter spying on Bobby who had probably been trying to catch a catnap while she watched TV. Watching Lydia was exhausting, he didn't blame the guy.

"Can you wake Grandpa up for me?"

"Ummm." More pattering of feet and then he heard Lydia's voice away from the phone. "Grandpa? Grandpa, wake up!" She put her mouth close to the speaker again. "I poked him but I he didn't move. I think he's dead," she informed her father. Dean chuckled.

"He's not dead. Can you reach his nose?"

"Yes."

"Okay, pinch it with two fingers like when you got that bloody nose."

"Kay." Dean counted to ten then fifteen and then heard Lydia yelp as Bobby inevitably woke up due to suffocation.

"What in God's name!"

"Hi, Grandpa!"

"What were you doing just now? Trying to kill me?"

"I was waking you up!"

"Who taught you to do that?" Dean heard Bobby ask.

"Daddy."

"Of course he did," Bobby grumbled. "What have you got there?"

"Daddy's on the phone. He talked to Oscar and he misses me. Did you know Daddy's favorite color is blue?"

"Give me the phone, please," Bobby asked.

"Daddy, Grandpa wants the phone," she spoke into the speaker, dancing out of Bobby's reach as he sat up in the chair, rubbing his eyes.

"Okay, why don't you give it to him?"

"But I like talking to you!"

"I know, sweetie, and I like talking to you but please give the phone to Grandpa."

"No!" she shouted in a now-infamous tone. Dean heard a chair scrape back and then Bobby's heavier footsteps following as he undoubtedly chased her around the kitchen as she tried to keep the phone from him. Dean waited not so patiently as Bobby caught up with her and scooped her up, grunting with the effort.

"Say goodbye to Daddy," he said and Lydia shrieked with glee as he threw her over his shoulder. Dean's heart flipped again at the thought of what he was missing. He wanted to be the one to throw Lydia around and make her laugh. Bobby and Sam had been doing too much of that lately.

"Bye, Daddy!"

"Bye, sweetheart. I love you!" There was a scuffle and then Bobby's voice came over the line.

"You idjit. I heard your favorite color is blue."

"Shut up, Bobby. Now tell me where I can get some silver bullets so I can come home and see my daughter."

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><p><strong>AN: **If you liked it (or didn't!) leave a review and tell me why! As always, I'm open to suggestions and requests.


	8. Puppy

**A/N: **This oneshot sees the return of Tyler and Cole, Sam and Sarah's twins. Cole has selective muteness. If you want to read their first installment, it's Chapter Two in this series, "Double Trouble". This is for those of you who have been asking for a reappearance of the twins and Uncle Dean!

I'm getting through the requests slowly but surely; they will all get done, I promise! Also, **ebonywarrior85: **for your request did you want Lydia or just a daughter for Dean in general? Wasn't sure so let me know!

Check out my new multi-chapter fic, "Ordinary Human", up on my profile now!

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><p>At seven years old, Cole was still mostly mute. At home, key phrases like "hello" and "goodnight" could be teased out of him fairly frequently. It was rare that he spoke outside the comfort of the house, but the little boy had become more outgoing. He was doing better in school, better with his therapists…<p>

And it was all thanks to Puppy.

Puppy was a three-year-old golden retriever with silky ears and an extraordinary gift for loosening Cole's tongue. She'd been with the Winchesters for just under a year, being gifted to Cole by a volunteer group that trained service animals for children with disabilities such as his.

Sarah and Sam had just started investigating animal therapy when a new therapist brought her dog to one of the sessions and Cole showed a distinct interest in the animal, allowing it to lick his hand. The dog – a furry cottonball looking thing – dropped itself into Cole's lap as the therapist seized an opportunity with the normally closed-off child. That day, they did exercises and read books that revolved around animals, especially dogs.

At the end of the hour, Cole scooped the tiny dog up and showed it to his parents who were getting dinner ready in the kitchen. He stood in front of them, clutching tightly to the patient animal and said with no preamble,

"Puppy."

It wasn't more than a broken whisper but it might as well have been a war cry. Sarah dropped a spoon onto the counter while Sam stared open-mouthed. The therapist, who was standing behind the child, looked just as surprised. Cole yet to say a single word to her beyond hello and goodbye.

Sam was still watching his son as Sarah got down on one knee and pet the dog on the head, her voice trembling slightly as she said,

"Yes, it is a puppy, isn't it? Do you like the puppy?" Cole nodded. "He's so soft, isn't he?" Cole turned a half step to face his father.

"Puppy," he said again, louder this time, extending out his arms to show Sam the dog.

"Wow," Sam said. "He likes you, Cole." The child beamed.

The therapist was just as astounded as Sam and Sarah were. She stayed an extra half hour and Cole said the world 'puppy' three more times in that time span. It was his biggest breakthrough to date.

Within the next six months, Cole started interacting with animals more and more and his speaking at home got more pronounced. That's when Puppy entered the picture. A volunteer group reached out to the Winchesters through one of Cole's therapists and offered their services. It took a while for a dog to be paired up with the child but it had been love at first sight between the boy and canine.

Puppy was good-natured and playful but seriously devoted to Cole. Somehow she understood that the boy was different from the other humans around and she stuck to his side from day one. She slept beside his bed on a special blanket Cole had actually picked out at the store before they brought her home. He'd also picked out her food bowls, her leash, and a couple toys. Every week, Sam, Cole, and Puppy went downtown to the pet store and Cole helped buy her food and sometimes a special treat.

Sam and Sarah couldn't believe the change in their child. As long as Puppy was around for the therapy sessions – and she always was – Cole was more likely to open up for his therapists and his progress increased more in ten months than it had in four years.

xxx

Dean hadn't been around for a long time. He was busy taking down a demon fighting ring and refused to go anywhere near Sam and Sarah's until he was one hundred percent sure that no one was going to follow him back. If Sam thought his brother was overprotective during their childhood, that instinct had been ramped up tenfold when it came to his nephews. The last time Dean had been home, the dog development had just been unfolding and he honestly hadn't paid that much attention because one, he didn't like dogs, and two, he'd only stopped in to pick up a weapon.

So when he got to the house in the beginning of October and saw dog toys strewn about the front lawn, he was more than a little surprised. Adding a family pet to the already chaotic household didn't seem like a Sarah move.

"I'm back!" he yelled, opening the front door. The warmth of the house rushed up to greet him, stinging his frozen nose and ears; the heat in the Impala had gone out again and he didn't want to take the time out of the trip to fix her.

"Dean!" Sam came around the corner, looking genuinely happy and giving his brother a onceover before reaching out to hug him.

"Hey, where's the wife and kids?" Dean asked, allowing Sam to take his bag.

"Sarah's at the dentist. Kids are out back playing. Come here," he said, eyes gleaming and going to the back door. He slid it open slowly so it didn't make any noise. Dean joined him. In the yard was a small playset, complete with a twirly slide, monkey bars, and two swings. Sam and Dean had spent an entire weekend putting it together when the boys were still toddlers and it was a hell of a lot more difficult than taking out a vampire or werewolf.

"What?" Dean said but Sam shushed him with a wave of his hand. Tyler and Cole were each on one swing and both were laughing hysterically.

_Wait, what?_

"Son of a bitch," Dean said in awe. "Is Cole laughing?" He'd never seen Sam look quite as proud as he did at that moment.

"Yep."

That's when Dean noticed the dog laying on its side on the deck in front of them. It was wearing what looked like a purple vest and a bright red collar.

"Finally got your dog?" he asked Sam. If possible, Sam's smile widened.

"She's not mine," he admitted. By then, Tyler and Cole had spotted their uncle and were traipsing across the lawn. The dog sat up suddenly as if a bell had rung in its ear and stood up just as Cole reached her. First his hands went for her ears, stroking them with a tenderness not common in seven-year-old boys. Then he wrapped is arms around her whole body and ended the hello with a kiss on the nose.

"Uncle Dean!" Tyler pelted himself at Dean.

"Hey, buddy! Good to see you! Hi, Cole." Cole gave his uncle a smile and reached out to hug Dean with one arm, keeping his other hand in the dog's long fur. She was pressed up against the child's body as if to lend him support. Dean could see clearly now the vest had words on it. SERVICE DOG: Do Not Distract. He'd never heard of service dogs except for the ones that led around blind people and even then he was always been a little weirded out. How could someone trust a dog to tell them where to go? Dogs were smart, sure, but that smart? No way.

"Dean, this is Puppy," Sam said.

"What an original name," Dean commented.

"Cole named her," Tyler said, looking proud. "Did you bring us any presents?"

"You know," Dean said, pretending to think about it and making a big deal of scratching his head in thought. "I think I did bring you guys something."

"Let me see, let me see!" Tyler said, bouncing around Dean and then running down the hallway to the guest room where Dean's bag sat. Cole followed behind in close pursuit with Puppy trotting beside him, her tail a plumed flag.

"Hey, guys!" Sam said, starting to follow the twins. "Guys, don't unzip Uncle Dean's bag!"

"Shit!" Dean said. His gun was stashed in the Impala but he'd forgotten to take Ruby's knife out his bag and sure enough, when they got to the room only a few seconds after the boys, they had discovered the weapon. Tyler held Ruby's knife in his right hand, tiny fist clenched around the wooden handle and he was waving it out in front of him.

"Ha! Take that, and that!" He stabbed the air. Thankfully, Cole and Puppy were behind him but Sam's still wanted to throw up when he saw his seven-year-old son lunging around with such a dangerous object. One wrong step and he could fall and hurt himself.

"Tyler," Sam said. "Please give the knife to me."

"Why do you have this?" Tyler asked Dean. Cole looked imploringly at his uncle; apparently he wanted to know the answer as well. Puppy was seating at – no – _on _the boy's feet and she too was staring at Dean.

"Yeah, Uncle Dean," Sam said tightly, not taking his eyes off of the knife which was now be twirled around. "Why do you have a knife?"

"For hunting the monsters," Dean said casually. "Keeps the bad guys away."

"Cool! Dad, can I have one of these?" Tyler asked.

"No!" Sam shouted. Both boys shrank back and Cole, who was closer to Sam, took a step in the opposite direction. Sam very rarely yelled at his children but he couldn't believe Dean had been stupid enough to bring a knife into the house. It looked like it still had flecks of dried blood on it. "Sorry," he said. "Tyler, please give me the knife. Carefully."

Air seemed to rush from the room when his son put the knife carefully in his palm and Sam folded his fingers around it. It'd been a long time – years – since he'd touched the knife or any weapon for that matter. It still laid in his hand the same, the grooves in the handle fitting his palm like he was born to hold it. He remembered the first time he had wielded it, feeling the rush of power surge through him like electricity, rivaled back then only but the demon blood. And he remembered sinking it deep into Ruby's stomach, hearing the crackle of her life leave her body before he slid it out again, the blade gleaming with her blood.

Cole watched his father stare down at the knife with narrowed eyes.

"Hurt," he said, unprompted. Both Dean and Sam snapped their gazes over to the little boy. Cole had said the word before but only a handful of times and only when he himself had gotten injured.

"Yes," Sam said. "This knife can hurt you. It's dangerous."

"Hurt," Cole said again and Puppy stood, wagging her tail and licking the boy's hand. She's been trained to react if the boy spoke and he patted her on the head to acknowledge her. Tyler sighed and left the room out of boredom; he'd grown sick of everyone making a big deal over his brother for nothing. Dean wanted to follow him but he was fascinated listening to Cole speak. It was one of the few times he had witnessed it.

Sam knelt before his son, still holding the knife.

"This is the blade," he said, pointing to the wickedly curved metal. "Here," Sam said, reaching for Cole's hand. When he didn't resist, Sam traced Cole's fingers over the dull side of the metal. "Knife," Sam said. Cole drew his hand away and then looked up at Dean.

"Hurt."

"Yes," Dean said. "Don't touch this." Cole nodded with a solemn look on his face but just waited there. "You want your present?" Dean asked. Cole grinned and when he moved to peer into the duffel, he kept his hand behind his back. Puppy leaned over the bed and stuck her nose into the bag and Cole giggled.

"Out of the bag, mutt," Dean said, gently but firmly pushing her nose away. From the depths of the bag, he withdrew two wrinkled t-shirts. As if he'd smelled the presents, Tyler came back into the room. "Here you go," he said, handing each of them a shirt.

"AC/DC?" Tyler said, holding out the shirt. "Cool! Thanks Uncle Dean. I'm gong to go try it on!"

"Let's see," Sam said, taking the shirt from Cole. "What does your say? Can you read that word?" Cole remained silent but he reached out and touched the hem of the shirt. "It's okay," he said. "It's a hard word. It says 'Metallica'."

Cole smiled and took the shirt from his father and left the room, Puppy following after him, always keeping within a head length of the boy. The minute he was gone, Sam turned on his brother who was zipping up the duffel.

"Ruby's knife, Dean? _Really?_"

"Sorry," he said, taking the knife back and tucking it into his waistband where the boys wouldn't be able to get to it.

"That's it? You're sorry?"

"What else do you want me to say?" Dean said.

"Dean, these are my kids!" Sam said. He lowered his voice. "I know you don't get this but they are my life. I don't need them accidently beheading each other because you were too stupid to not put your weapons away."

"I said I'm sorry," Dean mumbled. "I'll put it away, I promise."

"Good," Sam said, huffing. "Sarah will be home any minute. Go wash the blood off the knife before she gets back."

xxx

Dean stayed for nearly a week and the males of the household were more than happy to have him around. Sarah was a little less thrilled. She loved Dean, she really did, but he made Sam so distracted and that made it easier for the twins to get into trouble. Not to mention Dean chose to rile them up right before their bedtimes every night without fail.

They were eating dinner the night of Dean's arrival and it was just the three adults at the table, the twins having eaten half of what was on their plates and then dashed off. Tyler hadn't taken the t-shirt off all day despite the fact that it was two sizes too large.

"They'll grow into them," Dean said, shrugging. He thought that the miniature replica of Sam looked pretty cute in the oversized AC/DC shirt; it was something the actual Sam would never have allowed Dean to put on him.

The three of them were discussing the plans for the week when Tyler's explosive giggling could be heard from the hallway and then the thumping of feet on hardwood.

"Guys!" he said, rounding the corner and almost falling over. His bangs flopped into his face and he pushed them back hurriedly. "You have to see what Cole did!" Then Cole came around the corner, also grinning like a madman and behind him was Puppy.

Except Puppy was wearing a very familiar looking Metallica shirt with her two front paws sticking through the shirtsleeves. Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth happily.

"Oh my god," Sarah said, reaching for her phone. Dean groaned. His shirt on a dog? Sam elbowed him with a warning to shut up.

"Puppy," Cole said, leading the dog over to Dean and showing off the new style.

"Yeah, look at that," Dean said, trying not to let too much sarcasm bleed into his words. Cole giggled and Dean had to smile at the sound. He couldn't be too upset if it made Cole happy and more importantly, got him to speak. "That's one handsome dog, dude," he said.

"Puppy's playing dress-up!" Tyler crowed in delight as Sarah took several pictures of the boys and the dog.

"Uncle Dean, get in there," she said and he leaned over in his chair to get in the frame. "Big smiles!" she called and at the exact moment she snapped the picture, Puppy turned to Dean and gave him a huge lick on the face.

xxx

Dean didn't understand the dog. Granted, he wasn't the one living with a child with special needs and so he couldn't judge Sam and Sarah on doing what they could for their son, but it was still weird for him. Just the thought that this animal was capable of helping Cole in a way that humans couldn't. Dean had never been close to any animal; it was Sam who had always been the one to play with Rumsfeld, Bobby's dog, or feed one of the stray cats that wandered up to them on a Hunt. Animals just got in the way, not to mention how much time and money they wasted.

So when Dean decided to take Cole out for breakfast in the early part of his stay, he left the dog behind. He didn't do it vindictively and he didn't do it out of spite; he just didn't think that Puppy needed to go five minutes down the road with them while they ate pancakes. Besides, it was gross to have any kind of animal in a restaurant, especially one who shed all the time.

"No, Cole," Dean said not unkindly when they went to leave the house. Cole was walking out the door with Puppy at his side, his hand wrapped around the handle on the vest. "Puppy's going to stay here."

"Puppy," Cole said, pointing to the dog.

"Yes. Puppy. She's not going with us." Dean used his knee to keep the dog inside as he shut and locked the door. Sarah and Sam were at Tyler's soccer game so it was just the two of them. Puppy pressed her nose against the glass, leaving a wet smudge. Cole didn't say anything else but he did keep turning around to look back at his friend as Dean unlocked the Impala.

Honestly, Dean didn't think anything was wrong. He hadn't been around in ages so he didn't know that was abnormal for Cole to withdraw in public nowadays; he figured the boy was still as shy as he had been months ago when Dean last saw him. He didn't know that with Puppy along Cole would have given the hostess at the diner a smile instead of hiding behind Dean's legs. And that he might have pointed to what he wanted on the menu instead of just sitting in the corner of the booth and looking frightened when the waitress asked for their order.

Dean kept up a regular stream of chatter, not wanting overwhelm the kid but making sure he knew it was okay to speak up if he wanted to. Cole, of course, said nothing.

The boy was licking the last of the whipped cream off his Belgian waffle when a waitress tripped over a woman's purse about ten feet away and sent an entire tray of dirty dishes to the floor. No one was hurt and no harm was done except that when the crash sounded, Cole jumped about a foot off the leather seat, knocking over his own cup of orange juice.

"Shit," Dean said hastily pulling napkins out of the dispenser and cleaning up the mess. Cole was pressed against the seat back, trying to appear as small as possible while also trying to avoid the dripping juice. "It's okay, bud," Dean said when he noticed. "It happens." But now Cole was shaking and he wouldn't take his eyes off the waitress who was getting a hand off the floor. The little boy mumbled something under his breath but Dean had his head down cleaning off the spill and didn't see Cole's lips move. It took the Hunter another couple minute of coaxing to convince Cole to start eating again but eventually he did, although noticeably more agitated than before, taking pauses in between each bite to survey the diner.

They probably would have concluded the adventure just fine if it hadn't been for the balloons.

A birthday party was going in the corner of the diner nearest the two Winchesters and there were multiple balloons being bounced between the young kids at the table as they waited for their food. And then one of the more riled up ones decided it would be a good idea to stab the balloon with forks. He managed to explode two of them before an adult confiscated the utensil.

Cole freaked out. At the first pop, he dropped his own fork and let out a startled shout. This seemed to terrify him even more and when the second balloon was murdered, he completely lost it and ducked underneath the table.

"Cole!" Dean said. "Hey, it's okay. It's just the balloons." But now Cole was screaming with his tiny hands over his ears, his face turned into one of Dean's shins. It took Dean a minute to figure out that the boy was actually shrieking the same word over and over: Puppy. It took him another minute still to realize that Cole had taken one hand off his ears and was _petting _Dean's leg, stroking it with directed fervor. By that time, most patrons of the diner was staring at them.

"Cole, buddy, come on," Dean said, trying to haul the kid up off the floor. The angle was wrong though and Cole was too limp to hoist up. He let out a fresh scream. "Okay," Dean said. He rose, pulling himself from Cole's grip and then crawled under the table himself, aware that they were being watched. "Put your arms around my neck," Dean instructed over the wailing. For a moment he was afraid Cole wouldn't even do that much but then he threw himself at Dean and the Hunter crawled backward, dragging the child with him.

"Puppy!" screamed Cole as Dean wrapped his arms around the boy protectively.

"You're okay, you're okay," Dean kept saying as he threw money onto the table and then rushed out of the diner.

Cole didn't stop crying until they were back in the house and even then it took him a while to calm down, his face buried in Puppy's fur while she pressed her head against his chest, making sure her weight was on top of his to help steady him.

Dean didn't know what to do so he just watched and tried to help stop the crying. It wasn't until Sam and Sarah got home an hour later that he received a verbal lashing from the both of them. He managed through most of it and then when Sarah went to go talk to Cole, Sam had some gentler words.

"Listen, we should have explained. I thought you knew. But that dog goes everywhere with him. Everywhere. We're not sure why but she helps him cope with the noises in public places and makes him more confident, more willing to interact and talk."

"Sam, I'm sorry," Dean said for the millionth time, and unlike when he'd apologized for the knife, he actually meant it this time.

"I know," Sam said. "He'll be okay. It might take some time but he'll get over it." Then he left to check on his son.

Dean wasn't too sure. He seemed to have mentally tortured the kid and that was the last thing he wanted to do, especially considering he hadn't exactly been around lately and that the kid looked up to him. He spent the rest of the day playing with Tyler while Cole hid in his room.

"You should go in and say goodnight to him," Sam said after the dinner dishes had been cleared away.

"I don't think so. I might just head out."

"No," Sarah said, shaking her head. "You're not. You're going to stay and apologize to him. If you leave, he'll think it's okay to do this and he'll associate it with you forever. Go say goodnight to him."

"He hates me," Dean said glumly.

"No, he doesn't," Sam said. "He was frightened. He's better now. Trust me, it's happened to all of us in this house."

"Go," Sarah urged. "Or you don't a second slice of pie."

Dean knocked on the door before entering and found Cole sitting on the floor of his bedroom working on a puzzle, Puppy's head draped over his feet.

"Can I come in?" Cole stared at him then nodded. Dean sat next to him and stroked Puppy's head. He noticed that both her collar and vest were off; her tail swished against his leg when he petted her.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you bring Puppy today," Dean said. "That was wrong of me." Cole kept staring. It was difficult to know how much the kid took in based on his blank expression. "Do you understand that?"

Cole nodded then put a hand on Puppy.

"Puppy," he said.

"I know," Dean said. "I'm sorry." Then Cole scooted forward and put his hand on Dean's chest.

"Uncle Dean."

It was the first time Cole had ever spoken Dean's name, much less referred to him as his uncle and the Hunter had a hard time not letting his jaw gape open. It was clear from his tone that Cole was making introduction between his uncle and his canine friend.

"Yes," Dean said, holding the little hand against his chest for the moment. "Uncle Dean. And I love you very much, okay? I love you and Puppy _both _very much." Cole nodded and then leaned all the way forward so that he was sitting in Dean's lap, his feet tucked under the stomach of the dog.

Dean thought it was probably one of the sweeter moments of his life, dog and all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** If you liked it (or didn't!) leave a review and tell me why! As always, I'm open to suggestions and requests.

Shoutout to Thoughtful Constellations who came up with the balloon idea!


	9. The Littlest Pilgrim

**A/N: **Okay this is a Thankgiving Special Daddy Drabble, requested by **ebonywarrior85. **It's in the Lydia 'verse (she has multiple chapters in this series).

* * *

><p>There were ten minutes until Lydia's kindergarten class let out and as usual, Dean was spending it at the school doors being smothered by the single moms who also had kids in the class.<p>

"So Dean, what exactly do you do for a living?"

"Dean, I accidentally made extra brownies over the weekend and thought you might like them."

"You live with your brother, right?"

It was always a relief when Miss Carol opened the classroom door and the kids flooded out. Lydia was usually first and today was no exception. She ran out of the room, ignoring the teacher's orders to slow down. Dean caught her as she bounded up to him and he swung her up in his arms while she giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Did you miss me?" she asked as they walked to the Impala.

"Of course I did," Dean responded just like he did every day when she asked him the question.

"Daddy, today we learned about pilgrims and the Indians and that they buried fish in their yards." He watched her nose wrinkle in the rearview mirror and noticed a streak of paint under her chin. "I don't like fish."

"I know," he said, chuckling. The kid had a healthy appetite despite being small for her age but no matter what, she refused to put anything seafood related into her mouth. That was fine with Dean: seafood was the weak man's meat. As long as she ate burgers – and boy did she eat them – he was fine with it.

"Let's see your take home folder," he said once they got back to the house and they had both kicked off their shoes so that both pair lay haphazardly in the doorway, Lydia's pink fur boots looking incredibly small next to Dean's work boots.

"I want to go to Grandpa's!" she said.

"Take home folder first," Dean reminded her. "Then we can go to Grandpa's and have a snack."

"I want ants on a log!" Lydia shouted.

"Folder," Dean said, trying to direct her wavering attention. It was their afternoon ritual that they sat down at the table together and read through the papers Lydia's teacher had sent home. Most of it was just information for parents but she occasionally had homework like coloring or writing out the alphabet a million times in a row. It made Dean bored as all get out to watch but Lydia was going to do well in school, he would make sure of it. She didn't seem to have the natural inclination toward academics that Sam had but Dean wasn't going to have her turn out like him, a high school dropout.

The folder was brightly colored with pictures of Strawberry Shortcake on the front and bent at the edges from both Dean and Lydia shoving it in her backpack in haste to make it disappear from view. Inside were two sheets of paper: one was a worksheet that he handed to Lydia and helped her get started on it. All she had to do was trace over the large letters that made up the multiple words they had learned recently, but the task was made ten times more difficult because Lydia wasn't exactly in the mood to sit still; she seemed to have picked up the habit of fidgeting from her father. Except Dean knew that if the homework didn't get done now, it wouldn't get done at all.

"Come on, kiddo," he said, tapping the paper. "You can do it."

"I don't wanna," she whined, laying her head down on her arm and dropping the pencil. Dean stopped it from rolling off the table.

"Well, I happen to know that a certain orange kitty is keeping Grandpa company at his house so you should hurry up so we can see him." Lydia groaned but picked up the pencil. Dean tried to hide a smile and started reading the orange piece of paper that he'd taken out of the folder.

_Dear kindergarten parent(s),_

_ This year, class 2B will be putting on a Thanksgiving play the day before Thanksgiving at eleven. This will be followed by a Thanksgiving feast that our kindergarteners will help prepare. We have been learning about the history of Thanksgiving this month in class and they are very excited to show you what they've learned. Please feel free to invite other family members such as grandparents and siblings to see the play and join us for the meal. Return this sheet with the number of people coming._

_ Miss Carol_

And underneath that:

_Lydia Winchester has been assigned the role of: Pilgrim. Please see list for appropriate costume pieces._

"So you're putting on a school play?" Dean asked after he had finished reading. Lydia's eyes snapped up from her homework where she had been painstakingly tracing the 'g' in dog.

"I'm going to be a pilgrim!" she said. "And then we are going to have a big dinner!"

"That sounds like fun."

"Are you going to come?" she asked more seriously, watching him carefully.

"Of course I am," Dean said, surprised. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Sometimes you have to go on trips without me," she reminded him, going back to her homework. It broke his heart how easily she said it but it was true. Dean was still hunting despite Lydia's growing attachment to him. He couldn't seem to shake the pure need to hunt.

"I'll be there," he said.

"Will Uncle Sam come?"

"You bet," Dean said, knowing Sam wasn't going to miss this for anything. Although Lydia was closest to Dean, she was incredibly close with all three men and Sam and Bobby leant Dean a huge hand when it came to raising her. He knew he couldn't do it without them and he wouldn't want to even if he could.

"And Grandpa?"

"Yep."

"And Oscar?"

"I don't think Oscar is allowed to go inside the school. But he'll be waiting for you when you get back." She shrugged and brushed hair out of her face.

"It was worth a shot."

Dean stared at his five year old.

"When did you learn to say that?" She looked up at him as if he were crazy.

"Uncle Sam says it all the time, Daddy." The _duh_ was implied and Dean couldn't believe his little girl was growing up.

xxx

"Grandpa, I'm going to be a real pilgrim!" Lydia said, rushing into Bobby's house two days later, Dean following close behind. With him he carried a plastic bag from the Salvation Army and a bag of food for dinner that they had picked up on the way home.

"Hey, sunshine," Bobby said, stomping his way up the basement stairs. "What are you hollering about?" Despite his age, Bobby was still able to hoist the little girl over his shoulder and she giggled until he threw her gently onto the couch and then she exploded with laughter.

"Grandpa, stop, stop!" she pleaded and he pulled away, a twinkle in his eye. She sat up on her knees. "Daddy bought me pilgrim clothes!"

"He did what?" Bobby said, throwing a glance back at Dean who had already pulled a beer out of the fridge.

"At the pilgrim store," Lydia said seriously. "I got a dress and an apron and a white hat and I get to wear it to school tomorrow for the play." At the mention of the performance, Bobby's face tightened but only Dean noticed.

"Liddy, why don't you go get Oscar from the back bedroom?" Dean suggested. The cat spent his days in Bobby's house when Lydia was gone; he wouldn't admit it but the old man had a soft spot for the feline.

"Then can I try on my costume?"

"Sure," Dean said. "Go on now."

When she was out of earshot, Dean turned to his surrogate uncle.

"What's going on? Where's Sam?"

"I had your brother run to the library for me. He should be back soon."

"Come on, Bobby," Dean said. "What's up with you?" The older Hunter drew a hand over his face and sat down on the couch Lydia had just vacated.

"I can't make it to Lydia's thing tomorrow."

"You can't –" Dean lowered his voice, "What the hell are you talking about? We told her all three of us were gonna go."

"Well, I have other things to do," Bobby snapped. "I ain't her father." Dean reared back as though Bobby had slugged him a good one.

"Excuse me?"

"Daddy, I'm back!" Lydia said. She raced into the room with Oscar trotting behind her and leaped into Dean's lap. He held his beer out so it wouldn't spill and let out a grunt when one of her knobbly knees landed square in his solar plexus. "Can I try my costume on now? Pleeeeaaaaase?

"You know what?" Bobby said, standing and moving a curtain to the side so he could see out the front window. "I think Uncle Sam is home."

"I want to try on my costume," Lydia said, bouncing up and down on Dean's lap who was busy glowering at Bobby. Lydia put a small on either side of her father's face and made him look at her. "Daddy, focus," she instructed, sounded a lot like Dean when he was trying to get her to do her homework.

"Right here, Liddy," he said as the front door opened and Sam walked inside.

"I want to try on my costume," she repeated and then used her hands to move Dean's head up and down so that he was nodding. "Say yes."

"Hey, Lydia," Sam said.

"Uncle Sam will help you," Dean said. "Right?" He looked over at his brother meaningfully, hoping that Sam would understand Dean needed him to take Lydia out of the room. sam did.

"Lydia, come show me your costume," Sam said, putting down the library books on the front table. She darted ahead of him and he followed with long strides.

"Bobby, we told her we would be there!" Dean said as soon as her chatter had faded.

"And you will be," Bobby said. "But I got a couple Hunters trapped in a sticky situation. I was waiting for Sam to get home and then I was going to head out."

"Bobby."

"Dean, this is my job. I love that kidlet but I can't let two men die. You know I can't."

"I know," Dean muttered after a minute, rubbing at tense spot between his eyes. "What about Thanksgiving? You gonna be back for that?"

"The job's in Florida."

Dean was silent.

"I'm sorry," Bobby said. "I hate to miss it."

"I wanted you to be here," Dean mumbled.

"I know," Bobby said. For a fleeting second, he thought about reaching out, maybe putting a hand on Dean's shoulder but he knew that the younger man would just shy away, possibly get angry. It was bad enough that Bobby wasn't going to be around for the holiday. He was sorry he had to miss it but the Hunting world stopped for no one. Including the five year old who came bouncing out of the back of the house a moment later.

"Ta-da!" she said, spinning around. Both Dean and Bobby instantly pasted huge smiles on their faces.

"Do you like my hat?" she asked. It was a white bonnet Dean had found in the corner of the Salvation Army and it was a little too big so that it slipped over her eyes. Sam knelt down in front of her to tie the strings into a neat bow under her chin.

"Wow, Liddy," Dean said, smirking at the sight of his child in colonial clothing. It was so adorable, he had to take out his phone. "Liddy, smile," he said and she beamed at him, curtsying like the princesses on TV.

"You are one cute looking pilgrim," Bobby said. "Come here, sunshine." The black dress was also too big and Sam had to pick up the excess material so Lydia didn't trip over the hem.

"Lydia, I'm not going to be able to come see you in the play tomorrow," Bobby said gently. Her smile disappeared faster than a Lamborghini around a curve.

"Are you going to have dinner with us?" she asked, looking over to her father. Dean bit his lip. Lydia had been talking about Thanksgiving since the morning after Halloween. Dean and Sam had spun fantastic tales of a turkey as big as her whole body and a whole plate of mashed potatoes just for her along with not one or two but _three_ slices of pumpkin pie. Dean's house was decorated with orange and yellow and brown paper chains, his fridge was decorated with a handprint turkey made in Art class yesterday, and a Native American "headdress" was sitting on Lydia's dresser, which was really just a band of brown paper the size of Lydia's head with a couple craft feathers glued to it.

"I don't think so, sweet pea," Bobby said. "I have to go to work for a few days."

"On a trip?" By now, Lydia knew that "going on a trip" meant that the one of the men – or two of them – were going away for a long time and might come back injured or very late at night. Lydia hated trips.

"Yes," Bobby said. Lydia's lower lip trembled and she walked over to Dean and into his waiting arms.

"Are you going on a trip too?" she asked him.

"No, I'm going to stay home with you and we're going to eat so much pie, our stomachs will be like balloons," Dean promised. She stayed in his arms but twisted around to look at Sam.

"Is Uncle Sam going on a trip?" she asked and the younger Winchester shook his head, offering a smile.

"Daddy and I are going to stay home with you. And we're going to come watch you be the best pilgrim in the whole wide world," Sam assured her. Lydia hesitated then nodded and Dean swept a calloused hand over her hair, brushing it out of her eyes. "Come on," Sam said, crouching down and offering his back to Lydia. "Let's go get ready for dinner with a piggy back ride." With one more tearful glance back at Bobby, Lydia climbed on Sam's back and they trotted off.

"I hate this," Dean mumbled to his half-empty beer bottle. "I didn't want her to grow up like this."

"It's the way we are," Bobby said. "You're doing the best you can, Dean. Let it go."

Dean was trying but it was easier said than done

xxx

"Oh my god," Sam said, opening up the camcorder he had dug out of Bobby's basement the night before. "This is so cute." Dean had to agree. They were seated with about thirty other parents and family members around the edges of Lydia's kindergarten classroom in chairs about the size of Sam's palm. Both Winchester's squirmed uncomfortably in the tiny seats, adjusting this way and that to see if it was possible to get more than one buttock on the chair at a time. It wasn't.

At exactly eleven o'clock, six little Indians and six little Pilgrims marched into the classroom where they had been waiting in the library. Lydia was the last Pilgrim on the right side, conveniently standing close to where her father and uncle were sitting. When she noticed them, she grinned and waved at them. Sam and Dean waved back, trying not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing looked, Lydia included. The "apron" she wore was really just a bedsheet that the lady at the Salvation Army had cut and pinned to the simple black dress and her bonnet was crooked, but Lydia looked ecstatic.

The play was short and chaotic. A couple of the kids were too shy to say their lines and Miss Carol had to step in for them but when it came for Lydia to speak, she stepped forward with dramatic flair and almost shouted the line she had been assigned to memorize.

"The Indians helped us grow food by putting fish into the ground!" Then she dropped the stuffed prop fish into the waiting container on the ground. Even though they weren't supposed to, Sam and Dean stood up and clapped and Lydia waved at them again, too excited to remember classroom rules. At the end, when they all took a bow, her pigtails flew wildly as she bowed four times in a row with enthusiasm.

"Did you see me? Did you see me?" she yelled after she had taken off her costume and was back in the room.

"Lydia, use your inside voice please," Miss Carol reminded her.

"Did you see me?" she asked again, more quietly.

"You were amazing," Sam assured her. "You were the best pilgrim out of all of them."

"Really?" she asked, climbing into Sam's lap. All of the other children were sitting in their own chairs but Lydia looked comfortable leaning against Sam's chest and Dean didn't feel the need to chastise her at the moment. What harm would it do, really? She had cried again that morning when they left for school without Bobby but her tears had stopped as soon as Dean had reminded her that Bobby would be back in a few days and they would all go out to dinner together.

"You were great," Dean said. "Definitely my favorite. I loved when you dropped the fish right into the bucket."

"I didn't even miss!" she said proudly. With one hand tangled up in Sam's hair, she showed them the placemats they had colored in class with the word "Daddy" scrawled on one and the words "Uncle Sam" on the other. And when the parent helpers dished out the food, she refused to eat until Dean and Sam told her that the cornbread muffins she had helped make were the best ones they had ever tasted, when in reality they were dry and crumbly.

"Uncle Sam?" she asked when they were about to leave. "Will you carry me?"

"Sure," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at Dean, who shrugged. Lydia laid her cheek on Sam's shoulder as they walked out, becoming strangely quiet after they got into the Impala. Dean was so disturbed the sudden change in his daughter that he tested her forehead with the back of her hand but she just pushed him away.

"She's not sick," Dean said, shrugging again. Lydia had picked up Oscar and gone to her room and now Sam and Dean were in the living room, half watching the rerun of a football game.

"She's probably just tired," Sam said. "I'm sure she'll be fine in a little while."

xxx

They decided to have Thanksgiving dinner at Dean's house and Sam came over early in the morning to help his brother prepare the meal. They were keeping it simple with a small turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and rolls, with two different pies for dessert. Still, there was a lot to do.

"Where's Lydia?" Sam asked as Oscar met him at the door. Sam picked the cat up and scratched his head for a moment, feeling the purr vibrate against his hand. It was odd to see the cat without his usual sidekick but Sam's niece was nowhere to be seen and it was ten o'clock in the morning.

"Sleeping," Dean said. He had just finished prepping the turkey and was sliding it into the oven.

"Still? Is she okay?"

"I've checked on her a couple times and she doesn't have a fever. She said she doesn't feel sick either."

The little girl didn't show up until an hour later and it was then that she walked into the kitchen, dragging her favorite blanket behind her. When she saw Sam standing at the sink and Dean nowhere in sight, she burst into tears.

"Lydia!" Sam said, dropping the potatoes he had been peeling and rushing over to her. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She couldn't speak through the sobbing but she shook her head and then launched herself at Sam.

"Shhh, it's okay," he soothed, bewildered. Lydia tugged at his hair, a sure sign that she was distressed. He picked her up and carried her into the living room where he sat the two of them on the couch, completely confused as to what was going on. "Liddy, it's okay, honey. You're okay. Did you have a bad dream?" She nodded against his collarbone and he held on tighter, feeling the quick beat of her tiny heart against his own chest. This is what Dean must go through every time Lydia hugged him goodnight or hello, every time she wrapped her arms around her father's neck.

"M-mommy left," she sobbed, her words stuttering through the tears. "And G-grandpa l-l-left. And now D-daddy left t-too!" she howled, tiny fingers scraping against Sam's scalp as she tried to burrow closer into his body.

"Hey, Daddy didn't leave," Sam said. "He just went out to get firewood." Oscar had jumped up next to them on the couch and when Lydia pulled away, he infiltrated the space between the two humans, rubbing his face against her pajamas.

"W-where?" she hiccupped.

"Outside at the woodpile," Sam said. "He didn't leave, sweetheart. And Grandpa is coming back." Lydia didn't believe him, he could see that her narrowed eyes. So he stood again, hitching her onto his hip and led her to the backdoor. It was easy to spot Dean from here; his arms were stacked high with wood and he appeared to be singing though Sam couldn't hear the words from where they stood inside the house. Sam knocked on the door to get his brother's attention.

It took Dean all of two seconds to drop the wood and sprint to the door when he saw Lydia's tear-stained face. A blast of cold air hit Sam when the door opened and he felt Lydia's toes curl against his leg at the chill.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, reaching for Lydia as soon as he was close enough. She clung to him like a spider monkey.

"She had a nightmare that you left," Sam explained. "And when she woke up and couldn't find you…" Dean's face relaxed but the concern stayed.

"Oh, Liddy," he said softly.

"I thought you were g-gone," she said, the remnants of tears tracking down her cheeks.

"No," Dean said. "I won't ever leave you, okay?" She nodded as she played with the short hair on the back of his neck. "I promise." He carried her back inside where the aroma of turkey was just starting to waft through the rest of the house. Dean turned on the TV and sat with Lydia until he could convince her to let go of his sweatshirt.

"I'm just going to go back outside and get some wood to build you a fire," he said. He tugged on one of her toes. "So your little toesies don't cold, okay?"

"Daddy?" she said in a small voice, tearing her gaze away from the talking snowman on TV.

"Yeah, princess?"

"Can we wait for Grandpa to get home before we have Thanksgiving?"

"Are you sure? Uncle Sam and I are making a bunch of food."

"I want Grandpa," she said.

Dean thought about it. He knew that a lot of kids weren't as attached to their family as Lydia was, he certainly hadn't been to John, but he also knew that most kids didn't live the lifestyle she did, with the important adults coming and going out of her life whenever they wanted. And she had no way to control it. It made sense that she would want all of them in the same place for a little while, especially after losing her mom.

"Okay," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She smiled up at him, reminding him of the pictures of angels he had seen depicted as a child. She sure as hell beat the real live ones.

"Daddy?" He was almost out of the room when she called to him again and he saw the return of her normal spunk as she grinned slyly at him.

"What?"

"We don't have to have turkey for dinner but maybe we could have pie," she said. "I don't think Grandpa would mind."

"Pie for dinner?" Dean said, pretending to think about it.

"Just a little bit?" she cajoled, holding up her thumb and pointer finger close together so they were only an inch or so apart. Dean laughed.

"Okay. Pie for three coming right up."

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><p><strong>AN: **Hope you enjoyed! Happy Thanksgiving for those of you celebrating and I hope you get to eat plenty of pie! :D


	10. Time and Time Again

**A/N: **This is the tenth Daddy Drabble! I'm so happy y'all seem to like these stories and I love that you keep sending in requests! I promise I will get them all done!

This is a request from **Rivermoon1970 **and features a new storyline: What if Amelia tracks Sam down and she has a kid and it's his?

I've never written Amelia before but I tried to stick as close to her canon personality as possible. Nevertheless, this piece reads a little differently; not the usual fluff.

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><p>Amelia called.<p>

Sam had just been minding his own business, picking through the fridge trying to find some edible leftovers when the cell on the table buzzed. If he'd known, he probably wouldn't have picked up; he probably would have thrown the phone out of the window because he would have _wanted _to pick up but known he shouldn't. Maybe he would have made Dean pick up and fake an accent while he watched nervously from across the room, biting at his thumb because that's what he did when he was nervous.

But Sam didn't know. So he picked up the phone.

She sounded older, but that was to be expected. Did he sound older as well? Could she tell how much he had changed in the seven – almost eight – years since they'd last seen each other? She couldn't possibly know but maybe she guessed.

When he hung up, he sat in a chair in the middle of the bunker and then he stood and walked to the kitchen and then the basement and then back upstairs. He couldn't keep still. Dean noticed, demanded to know what was wrong.

"Amelia called."

He could tell Dean was pissed. Angry that Sam had picked up the phone, frustrated perhaps that his little brother wasn't focused one hundred percent on what they were supposed to be handling at the moment. What were they supposed to handling? Sam couldn't remember. All he could think of was the way her voice had lightened when she said his name, as if it was always sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting for an excuse to be used.

"I have to go," he said that night, coming out of his room with a backpack.

"Excuse me?" Sam couldn't meet his brother's gaze so instead he stared the open book on Dean's bed.

"Just for a few days," he said and hated that his voice had a trace of pleading in it. He didn't need Dean's permission.

"You better come back, Sammy," Dean said but he said it only after Sam was down the hall and he said it into the hand that rubbed at his face so his baby brother couldn't hear the words. Couldn't hear Dean's own plea.

xxx

Northern Texas was odd, Sam thought. It wasn't as dry as the other parts of the state but it was just as hot, an odd mix of scorching rain. He'd taken one of the cars from the bunker, a red Camaro that Dean had drooled over but refused to drive because he would "never cheat on Baby."

The Camaro was fun but the windshield wipers sucked and Sam almost landed himself in a ditch three times before pulling into the motel that Amelia had named over the phone. Nicer than the usual dives he occupied but still out of the way, protected from real civilization by several small towns. She obviously didn't want to be seen. Didn't want them to be seen.

He was a day early and while he had the TV set switched on, he spent most of the time thinking about what she could want, why she could called him so suddenly after so long. Sam envisioned her at his door dressed in a black overcoat cinched at the waist and when he withdrew the belt, she was dressed in black – no, red – lingerie. Her hair would be wet, he mused, because it hadn't stopped raining, but that only made her curls bouncier, her face fuller. Amelia liked the rain; she had told him that once when it had rained for three days straight, flooding their basement.

Maybe she would be tan, maybe she had just gotten back from Jamaica or a cruise to the Bahamas. Maybe she would be crying, but when he envisioned that scenario in his head he couldn't tell if it was out of sadness or happiness. If it was sadness maybe that meant something had happened to Don, which made Sam a tiny bit happy. Just a little.

He slept even less than he usually did, tossing so much that he eventually slid the gun he kept under his pillow to the night table. He made sure to hide it the next morning before he got dressed.

She knocked at 12:03 in the afternoon, three minutes past the time she said she would be there, and Sam smoothed his hair down in mirror beside the door before he answered the door, wondering for the thousandth time if she was going to look the same, act the same. If she still loved him, if he would be able to tell. He was nervous in a way he couldn't explain.

Amelia was holding a baby.

He couldn't even look at the woman whom he had once loved – still loved? – because there was an infant in the way, one small hand resting on Amelia's shoulder as it spun around to peer at Sam with wide eyes.

"Hi, Sam." Her voice was the same and he saw that when she shifted the baby to her other hip, that she looked the same. Eight years had been kind to her, had softened the hardness around her eyes, which were deeper in color than his, like molasses.

"Amelia," he said because he wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't prepped for this. "Come in."

"I-I can't," she said. The baby screeched happily and reached out for Sam, interested in the tall man before him. Amelia took a step back.

"Okay," Sam said. In all the scenarios his mind had produced in the last week, he had never envisioned her showing up with a kid, a baby no less. He was cute as far as babies went, with dark hair and an orange hoodie with a dump truck on it, little baby jeans to cover his kicking legs. He wanted to be put down.

"It's not that I don't want to," she said in a rush, glancing back at a silvery blue SUV parked a couple stops back. It was covered in mud and needed to be washed. "I just can't leave her in the car."

He followed her gaze and saw through the back window that there was another child in the car, a girl. She was staring right at Sam and when he blinked, she didn't.

"She has your eyes," was all Amelia said.

xxx

She couldn't get the little girl to come out of the car. Her name was Madison and she was Sam's. At least that's what Amelia explained to him on the front step of a motel room while another child babbled senselessly in between them.

"That last time," she said, "Do you remember?" She was having problems looking him in the eye, something that had always been so easy to do before. Sam had never intimidated her, never. Not with his stature or muscles or knowledge about weapons and fighting. But this, this unpredictability, it frightened her into submission.

"Of course I remember," Sam said, voice low. He kept looking back at the girl in the car whose head was ducked down now, looking at something in her lap. She had dark hair, like Amelia, and it covered her face, hiding her from view.

"We weren't…careful enough."

"Yes, we were." She half snorted, half laughed.

"Well I have a seven year old in the backseat of my car who says we weren't."

"You don't know that she's mine." He didn't know why he said it; Sam would never have said that before but this wasn't before, it was now. And now he had a kid. Supposedly.

"Oh yes I do," Amelia said, anger already sparking as if she had guessed this is how Sam was going to react. "We've had the tests done, all the tests. I used your old toothbrush you left behind. Right after she was born. She's yours. Ours."

Ours.

They had a kid. A child. A daughter. She had long dark hair and Sam's eyes. She wouldn't come out of the car. That's everything he knew about her.

"Why won't she come out?" Amelia shrugged and the baby reached out for Sam again. This time, Amelia didn't pull him away and Sam automatically reached back. The child wrapped a finger around Sam's thumb and tugged, smiling.

"Maddie doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. She takes after her father that way."

He couldn't tell if it was a compliment or an insult.

It was only drizzling now, Sam could hardly feel the rain at all as he walked to the car and knocked on the window. Madison – his daughter – glanced up. Her hair was held back by one barrette on the side. She opened the door a crack.

"Can we talk?" Sam said. "I'm Sam." She opened the door wider.

"I know. You're my real dad." Sam couldn't help it, he glanced back at Amelia with wide eyes because she hadn't mentioned that Madison knew.

"Yeah," he said, turning back to her. "I guess I am." She looked him up and down and he did the same, sizing each other up like only Winchesters could do. "Would you like to come inside?" he said. "I have Oreos."

Inside, Madison ate three Oreos and a glass of water.

"Milk is better with Oreos," she told Sam from where he sat across the table as if he was about to conduct an interview. Amelia was sitting on the bed while the baby – Luke – played with toys brought out of an oversized diaper bag.

"Maddie," Amelia scolded.

"No, she's right," Sam said. "They are totally better with milk." Madison smiled at him for the first time and Sam forgot how mad he was at Amelia for not telling him about her sooner. Amelia was right, Madison's eyes were hazel like Sam's. She has her mother's heart shaped face and curly, dark hair but her uncle's chin. What would Dean do if he knew Sam had a daughter? If he knew he had a niece. God, Dean had a niece. That thought alone was almost as wild as Sam having a kid.

"If you're my real dad," Madison said. "Then how come you don't live with me?"

"Maddie, we've talked about this," Amelia said from the bed. Her eyes widened in warning at Sam; she shook her head when the little girl took another sip of water.

"Well, that was your mom's choice," Sam said. When Madison scowled, she looked just like Sam when he was upset.

"Are you Luke's dad too?" Crumbs had collected in the corner of her mouth and Sam had the urge to wipe them away but he kept his hands in his lap.

"No," Sam said. "Just yours."

"Can I please use your bathroom?" she asked, standing up and wiping her hands on her skirt. Sam was shocked by her politeness but he should have known Amelia would raise a polite child. Once upon a time, he had dreamed of having a kid with her. But just dreamed it. They hadn't wanted to bring more people into a world that has so harshly disappointed the two of them. It was a silly way of thinking, he realized now as he watched his daughter. How could someone not want a child of their own? He'd known about his for twenty minutes and he already wanted her. He would shield her from those disappointments.

"Of course. It's right there," he said. As soon as the door was shut, Sam was over at the bed.

"How could you do this?" he asked, upset for the first time.

"Did you not want to meet her?"

"I didn't even _know _about her!" Sam hissed. Luke was sitting up against Amelia's leg and he handed Sam a yellow block and then pulled it back at the last minute, erupting into giggles as he brought the toy to his mouth.

"How did you want to hear about her? A phone call? A text? An email?"

"What about the seven years part? You had seven years to tell me!" Amelia's sigh was cut off by the toilet flushing. Madison came out of the bathroom with wet hands and a devious smile.

"Mommy," she said, climbing onto the bed and tickling Luke's stomach. She glanced at Sam to see if he was watching. He was, of course. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The way she talked and moved and even breathed, all of it seemed like some type of miracle. The fact that he had had a hand in making her, that she was half of him was astonishing. That if he hadn't been born, she wouldn't have been born either. All of a sudden, he wanted to know everything about her.

"Yeah?"

"Can we go to the zoo?"

"There's no zoo around here," Amelia said. "We can go when we go home."

"Will Sam come?" Amelia closed her eyes for a long second. She'd known this wasn't an entirely good idea but she had needed Sam to know about his daughter. She saw Sam in Madison every day and for seven years she had dealt with the constant reminders of her one great lost love.

"No," Amelia said. "Sam can't come. We're just visiting. He has to come home tonight. So do we."

"I want to go to the zoo," Madison said, bending down to kiss Luke on the top of the head. Sam's heart melted.

"There's a petting zoo down the road," Sam offered. "It's next to the diner. Have you guys had lunch?"

"No!" Madison shouted in glee and Amelia shook her head, trying to hide a smile.

"Indoor voice," she reminded her daughter but her eyes were on Sam instead and the way he was beaming down at the little girl in front of him.

xxx

The petting zoo wasn't crowded. In fact, they were the only ones there besides some rabbits, a couple goats, and a donkey. Luke started fussing two minutes in when Amelia wouldn't let him play with a piece of goat poop.

"Maddie, let's go inside," she said. "We can see the animals later." But Madison was scratching the donkey through the fence and ignored her mother. "Maddie!"

"I can stay out with her another couple minutes," Sam offered and Madison whirled around, her hearing suddenly turned back on.

"Yeah, Sam can stay with me," she said. Amelia looked at the two of them, both wearing identical eager expressions, the same hazel eyes staring back out at her. Sam's hair was shorter than when she last saw him but he looked mostly the same. The same kind eyes, the same strong jawline. She shook her head in defeat.

"Fine," she said, hoisting a crying Luke up. "I'll order you a grilled cheese," she told her daughter. "Sam, what do you want?"

"Grilled cheese is fine for me too," he said. Amelia nodded but there was a warning in her eyes. Sam understood. She was trusting him with her most precious item, the only part of Sam she had left.

"Do you like animals?" Sam asked once they were alone. Madison nodded.

"Do you?" she asked.

"I love dogs," Sam admitted, squatting down. One of the goats came up and butted his shoulder and he scratched its head. Madison came over and started petting its back. He loved the gentle way in which her fingers ran through its fur, the way her lips were slightly pursed. She was beautiful in a way Sam had never thought people could be.

"I have a dog at home," Madison said. She swept her hair out of her face with one hand and looked up innocently at her father. "His name is Riot."

It was the first time in a long time Sam had wanted to cry.

"He's old so he mostly sleeps a lot," Madison said, moving onto the rabbits. "He sleeps in my room, ever since I was a baby. Mommy says he loves me best out of everyone."

"Sounds like he does," Sam said.

"If you come visit one day, you can meet him," she said, glancing out of the corner of her eye to watch Sam's reaction.

"I don't think your Dad would like that," he said carefully. He didn't know much about Don but he knew that he wouldn't welcome Sam into his kids' lives without any warning. He doubted Amelia had told her husband where she was or what she was doing.

"But you're my real dad," she said. "I know what that means. It means once Mommy and you went to the baby store and picked me out but then you had to go away."

"Where in the world did you hear that?" Sam asked.

"Cassidy from school told me," she said seriously, petting the ears of a black and white spotted rabbit who had fallen asleep in her lap.

"Your Daddy at home loves you very much," Sam said. "Even if Mommy and I did," he winced, "pick you out at the baby store." Madison didn't look convinced but she nodded.

"Madison," he said as they stood to go inside.

"You can call me Maddie," she said. "That's what everyone tells me. Except for Luke because he can't talk yet."

"Okay, Maddie," Sam said, liking the way the nickname sounded coming out of his mouth. "If your mom says it's okay – and we'd have to ask her – do you think you'd like to come visit here again? Visit me?"

"Sure," she said without even pausing. As they headed for the diner, she slipped her tiny hand in his large one and he almost pulled away in surprise. Instead, he formed a loose fist over her fingers, holding on as tight as he dared. "I like you," she said.

The swelling in his chest, the tightness of his throat as they walked hand in hand: Sam didn't know what it all meant yet but he had a feeling Amelia would give him a chance to find out. And he had a feeling he was going to like it.

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><p><strong>AN: **If you liked it (or didn't!) leave a review and tell me why! As always, I'm open to suggestions and requests.


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